


Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses

by Blayzepwa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Awesome Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Castiel Rides Horses, Cowboy Castiel, DCBB, Dean Winchester Gets Therapy, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Destiel - Freeform, Horses, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Michael/Dean Winchester, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing, Therapist Ellen, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, equine assisted therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blayzepwa/pseuds/Blayzepwa
Summary: When Dean’s therapist, Ellen, suggests that he tries something called equine assisted therapy to help him deal with his PTSD, he thinks she’s crazier than he is, and that’s saying something. Horses, seriously? Yeah, really not his thing. But then he meets Castiel, the awkward and…well, kind of strange volunteer with the program. At first he’s unsure of what to think about Castiel, or his horses. But as he builds up his confidence, both in himself and others, he learns a couple things: horses are actually pretty freakin’ awesome, family can surprise you, and that occasionally good things come wrapped in strange packages.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> It's done! What a crazy time this one was! First, I need to say a HUGE shout out to my artist for this story, Amethystaris! Guys, this is one talented artist! I am so happy she picked my story! Please PLEASE visit her art page [HERE](https://amethystaris.tumblr.com/post/179380815256/art-for-whos-gonna-ride-your-wild-horses-by) and give her props. She was awesome to work with and captured the scenes she chose perfectly.  
> And another thank you to my beta, beezie687! I raise my glass to you, girl! You helped me so much with this, and your advice made this story come out so much better than it would have!  
> Trigger warning for rape content! There's not a whole lot, and it's all through a few flashbacks (written in _italics_ ) as this story is more a focus on the recovery aspect. But if it makes you squeamish, I will post a warning each chapter that contains one (then you can skip past the italics portion of the chapter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashbacks in this chapter are non sexual in nature

 

**Chapter One**

**_April 25, 2008 - Lawrence, Kansas_ **

 

_“Hey, Dean.”_

_Dean looks up from his beer and nods at the man who sidles up next to him. An acquaintance that he met through Benny at work, someone who just moved here from God knows where. At first he draws a blank at a name, then it pops into his head. “Michael,” he greets cautiously._

_Michael plunks his beer down on the bar, ignoring the small splash it makes as the glass hits the bar top. He leans forward and grins. “How have ya been?”_

_Dean bites his lip, trying not to shift away. God, personal space issues much? “Fine,” he replies shortly, hoping Michael will get the hint and leave him alone. He was never overly fond of Michael the few times they hung out. The guy always gives off some sort of hinky vibe. Not to mention always coming in to get his car worked on by Dean. The freak. Besides, Dean has a lot on his mind, trying to figure out what the heck to do for his little brother’s twenty-fifth birthday. Sam is coming home from school to spend it with Dean, the least he can do is throw him an epic party. Or something, at least._

_The other man sits down and scoots his stool a little closer to Dean’s. Dean tries not to roll his eyes at Jo, who is watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow. He’s not very successful, but Michael doesn’t notice. Or just doesn’t care. Could be either. “Fancy running into you here.”_

_Dean half heartedly shrugs his shoulder. “Yeah, well, here I am.” He doesn’t disguise the sarcasm from his voice and hears Jo snort in amusement as she pours another patron a beer._

_“Listen, I’m throwing a barbeque on Saturday. It would be great if you were there.”_

_Seriously? They have barely even spoken, like...ever, except to discuss car issues, and he’s inviting Dean to his house? Weird, much? “Ahhh, sorry man. Got plans with my brother that night.”_

_“Oh.” He sounds really disappointed. Like he was really hoping Dean would be there. “You can bring your brother, if you want to,” he adds, a note of hope in his voice._

_Dean raises his eyebrows. “Nah. That’s okay. Uhh..Thanks though, I guess?”_

_Michael’s lips thin as he raises his glass. He continues to try and make small talk and Dean answers in noncommittal grunts and one word answers, hoping the guy takes the hint and just leaves, already. Eventually, he seems to. “Well, I’ll see ya around, Dean-o.” Finally! And what’s with the fucking stupid nickname? Michael pushes himself off the stool, hovering for a moment before turning and shuffling out of the bar._

_Dean shakes his head and finishes the rest of his beer. Alone at last._

_“Wow, that guy is...kinda creepy. Get ya another one, Dean?” Jo asks with a grin, leaning over the bar top and showing off her ample cleavage through the neckline of her bright red tank top ._

_She’s cute, and if Dean didn’t think of her as a little sister, he’d totally go after her. But he does, so he keeps his flirting to a minimum. Doesn’t stop him from flashing her a megawatt smile though, making her cheeks flush. Yup. Still got it. “One more, then I gotta head back before Sammy sends out a search party,” he replies._

_Jo nods, and pours him another. “Speaking of, I haven’t seen your brother in here in a while, and I know he’s been back a few times to visit. What’s he been up to?”_

_“Studying,” Dean replies. His geek of a younger brother always has some sort of important exams coming up, and doesn’t even know the meaning of the word break._

_“Figures,” Jo says, a fond tone coloring her voice. She and Sam were just as close growing up as Dean and Jo were. “He must be doing really well.”_

_As if there’s any other way when it comes to Sam and school work. His brother and his freaking goddamn brain. Dean nods. “Yup.”_

_After Dean polishes off the rest of his beer - that new brand was delicious - he stands and tosses some money for Jo on the counter. He tosses her a two-finger salute and heads out of the bar. He regards the Impala, but decides against driving her. He feels the warm tingle of alcohol in his veins, and won’t take a chance with his Baby. She’ll be okay, and he knows Jo will look out for her, make sure no one steals her. Handy, having a bartender friend that lives across the street from the place. He starts walking, hoping to make it home before Sammy goes to bed._

_The sun has almost set, and the deepening shadows dance along the brick walls of the street. Dean’s been walking for about five minutes when he hesitates, shifting his eyes back and forth. He has the distinct feeling of eyes on him. There is nobody visible on the walkway or the street, but he knows someone is there. His gut feelings have not led him wrong yet._

_He’s just passing the mouth of an alley, when he swears he hears someone say his name. Dean whirls, fists curling at his side. His eyes peer into the darkness of the alley, unable to pinpoint anything. Someone is there, though. The weight of the stare of whoever it is sends shivers down Dean’s spine._

_He juts his chin out, nostrils flaring. “Who’s there?” he calls out. His dad was a Marine, and spent years training him and his brother in self defense. He’s confident in his abilities. Bring it on, asshole._

_Dean squints. He thinks he sees a figure slip through the dark, but then it’s gone. A wisp of shadow. He’s just about to write it all off as a figment of his imagination, when he hears the distinctive click of the safety on a gun. He freezes, heart leaping into his throat. Fuck. No amount of hand-to-hand training can stop a bullet._

_Yeah, fuck this shit. He takes a step back the way he came, and then he sees the sun glint off the silver barrel of a gun. A gun that’s pointed directly at his chest._

_Dean ever so carefully raises his hands, backing up slowly. “Hey, man. Whatever this is, you don’t wanna-”_

_“Shut up, Dean.”_

_Dean’s eyes widen as he recognizes the voice. “Michael?” he hisses incredulously. “What the fuck are you doing, man?” His hands lower slightly in his surprise._

_“Keep your hands right where they are, and turn around. Slowly.” Michael’s voice is heavy with some unknown emotion._

_“Hey, if this about the barbeque, dude, I was just kidding! Of course I’ll come! I’d love to!”_

_“I’m not going to tell you twice, Dean-o.”_

_There’s that fucking name again. Seriously, if he never hears it again, it’ll be too soon. Dean sucks in his lower lip and ponders his options. Doesn’t like his chances if Mike is as crazy as he seems and willing to use that gun. He’ll just have to play along until he can figure out what the deal is._

_Hands up by his head, Dean turns, peering over his shoulder at the psycho loon behind him. He sees the gun raise higher, and he opens his mouth to call out. Tell him to stop. Anything. Before he has a chance, the butt of the gun is smashing into his head, and blackness rushes up to meet him._

*~*~*~*~

 **_1 Year Later -_ ** **_Present Day_ **

 

“Dean, look at me please.” Ellen’s voice is soft. Almost tentative. Not that Dean can blame her. He’s not exactly known for his even temperament lately. He looks at her through lowered eyelashes. “Maybe this time you could talk about what happened after?”

Dean shakes his head with a scowl. “No,” he says shortly. He refuses every time. He knows that Ellen knows that. So damn her anyways if she expects differently. Nope. No way. She raises her eyebrows. Great. Of course he manages to get the therapist that sees right through him. He sighs. Why everyone insists on trying to make him fucking _talk_ about it is beyond him. He’d rather forget.

Ellen jots something down in that stupid notebook of hers. Dean wishes she would stop doing that. If she writes this shit down, then it’s real. At least if she doesn’t, Dean can _pretend_ that this all some sort of fucked up dream. Pretend like that night never happened. That he is still in perfect control of himself. Yeah...like that'll ever happen again.

Dean’s leg bounces up and down erratically. Damn, he can feel his hand itching to move towards the cool metal of the flask in his pocket. He grips his knee instead, an action that has the dual purpose of stilling the movement of his leg and preventing his hands from reaching into his coat.

Ellen notices. Of course she does. Fucking shrinks. “What have you been taking?” she asks calmly.

Uhhh...well fuck, what can he say to that? Okay, maybe play dumb? “Been taking?” Dean knows his voice has that false innocent quality that she will be able to see right through.

She leans towards him. “Dean, you are suffering from a pretty severe case of PTSD. It’s not uncommon to turn to certain methods to help you cope. And give me some credit. I can tell when one of my patients has been using. I’m not here to judge you, Dean. I’m here to help you. So what have you been taking?”

Dean bites down on his lower lip. He shrugs. “Booze. Some pot, sometimes.”  

Ellen raises an eyebrow and the look in her eye clearly says that she doesn’t believe him. She should, though. It’s the truth. Just...maybe not _all_ of it. Thankfully she seems willing to drop it for now.

Better switch the subject while he can. He clears his throat. “Look, I’m here because my brother-”

“Sam,” Ellen clarifies.

Dean nods. “Yeah. _Sam_ made me promise to talk to someone. And I don’t break my promises, especially not to Sammy.”

Ellen folds her hands on her desk. She looks like every stereotype shrink Dean’s ever seen, but there’s no way he’s gonna tell her that. His sense of self preservation is somewhat intact, after all. “Let’s talk about Sam for a minute,” she says.

What? Why? “Umm...What the hell does Sam have to do with...with what happened?” He sits back in his chair and regards Ellen warily. What’s she getting at?

She smiles at him warmly. “Well, I have an inkling that you care deeply for Sam. And I am just curious about him. You’ve told me about you, even though you will barely talk about anything that happened last year. But you haven’t really told me much about Sam. So if you are not willing to talk about what happened right now, at least we can talk about something that makes you happy.”

Really? He’s been seeing Ellen for several weeks...He could have _sworn_ they’ve talked about Sam before. He blinks. “‘Course I care about him. He’s my little brother.” Like...duh?

“So tell me about him.”

Dean shifts awkwardly in his chair. “Okay...Well, he’s a gigantic freak. He’s smart. Dude can solve any problem you give him. Growing up he was always curious. Asked questions about _everything_. Probably could’ve been in a higher grade. Got a full ride to Stanford, too. Law school.” He shakes his head fondly. “I was so damn proud when he told me.” The smile that appeared on his face when he started talking about Sam disappears swiftly. “And he gave it all up for me.”

“Because he loves you.” Ellen nods. “And don’t you think he wants what is best for you?”

Ah. So that’s what she’s going for. The cheese factor. “Sure. But we can’t always get what we want,” Dean replies with a snort and a furrow of his brows.

Ellen doesn’t say anything for a minute, just fiddles with her pen, lips pursed. Then she appears to come to a decision. She pushes herself off her chair and moves around to the front of the desk, perching on it with one hip. There goes the shrink stereotyping again. “Dean, have you ever heard of equine-assisted psychotherapy?”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. Equi--whatzit? The fuck is she talking about? “Nope.”

“Well, I am part of a group of therapists doing a study on how horses can help patients who are suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.” She must see the grimace on Dean’s face, because she holds up a hand to stall any protest he might make. “You have it, Dean. Denying that won’t change the fact. And so far we have had great success with the horses. It’s a six week program where you learn to care for and ride a horse.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “So you think the pretty ponies will help me?” he says disdainfully with a shake of his head. “I’m not a little girl. Sorry to burst your bubble.” He stands up and stalks toward the door.

“We still have fifteen minutes, Dean!” Ellen calls from behind him.

He waves at her over his shoulder, slamming the door loudly as he leaves the office. He huffs out a breath as he storms towards the Impala. A woman pulls her daughter out of his path nervously. Good. Better get out of his way.

Dean knows the anger he is feeling is irrational. Stupid and irrational, just like him. Ellen. Sammy. Heck, even Uncle Bobby. They’re all just trying to help him. And deep down he _knows_ that, but he can’t help himself. He just wants to be left alone to his own devices. To deal with shit in his own way.

And his own way definitely doesn’t involve horses. Who the fuck came up with _that_ idea? He reaches his car and opens the driver’s side door, slamming it behind him. Distantly, he recognizes that he would have _never_ treated his baby like that before, but right at this moment? He can’t bring himself to care.

He turns the key in the ignition and the engine starts with a growl that mirrors his dark mood. He shoves her into gear and peels out of the parking lot with a screech of tires, leaving a trail of burnt rubber following in his wake.

*~*~*~*~

When Dean pulls up to the house a half hour later, his mood has soured even further. He knows what will be waiting for him when he enters, because it’s the exact same scene every time he comes back from Ellen’s office; Sam, sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to read the morning’s paper while glancing anxiously at the clock and crossing his fingers that Dean hasn’t decided today is the day that he will take off. Okay, _maybe_ that’s not what he’s thinking, but Dean knows his little brother better than anybody, and he knows the way his mind works.

He grits his teeth as he makes his way inside, not having any desire at all to talk to anyone else at the moment, eager little brothers included. He feels Sam’s eyes boring into him as he pulls off his boots. He pointedly ignores Sam as he flops himself down on the couch.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean grunts in response and picks up the remote, turning the television on. It’s some dumb documentary about Nazi Germany. He doesn’t want to watch anything of the sort, so he quickly changes the channel, stopping on some mindless sitcom.

“How’d it go today?” Sam is in the room now.

Dean doesn’t reply, just turns the volume up on the television. Over the sound of the show’s stupid laugh track, he can hear Sam sigh loudly. Sigh away, little brother. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his ever present flask, unscrewing the top and taking a large swig.

“Really, Dean?”

Sam might not be in his line of sight, but that doesn’t mean Dean can’t picture the exact face his little brother is making right now. The one where it looks like someone shoved rotten meat in his face. Dean snorts and takes another drink. Gross.

Sam moves into his line of sight, hands on his hips. And yup, there’s that bitchface. “I thought you said you were going to try to stop drinking so much.”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, _someone_ got rid of my stash of pot, so yeah. Fuck you,” he says pointedly, and glares at his brother over the flask.

Sam throws up his hands in exasperation, and Dean tries not to flinch at the unexpected movement. He thinks he’s successful when Sam keeps ranting at him. “They are drugs, for God’s sake, Dean. _Drugs_!”

“They are _medicinal_ , Sam. You of all people should know that, what with that big brain of yours.” Fucktard.

Sam huffs. “Well, maybe if it was _just_ pot it would be fine, but I’ve seen stoners before, Dean, I _did_ live on campus. I know what they’re like when they’re high. You’ve been lacing it with something, or taking something else on the side. I just want to know what.”

Okay, so Sam’s not wrong. There _might_ be a chance that he takes some Oxy once in a while. Sometimes. But Dean’ll be damned if he admits anything of the sort. Despite what people might think of him now, he doesn’t have a death wish. Besides, it’s not like he gets high _all_ the time…just once or twice a week, when the alcohol fails to drown out the memories.

Sam stares at him, as if expecting that Dean will come clean and spill everything. It’s like his little brother doesn’t know him at all. Dean raises an eyebrow and stares back, watching as Sam takes a deep breath. He can literally see the moment Sam decides to drop it. At least for the moment. Dean is smart enough to know that this won’t be the last time Sam brings it up, but he’s grateful for small miracles. He’ll take what he can get. Lord knows that he is due for some.

“So you never answered me,” Sam sniffs, crossing his massive arms across his chest. “How’d it go?”

 _Fine_. Jesus! “She wants me to take part in some stupid program!” Dean snaps. Sam draws himself back. Great. Didn't mean to flip out. Dean closes his eyes and takes a calming breath like Ellen has told him to in the past. “Sorry,” he mutters. He scratches the side of his neck awkwardly. “It’s...some sort of, uhhh.. working with horses thing.” The silence is so loud, Dean can practically hear the crickets chirping.

“Horses?” The confusion is Sam’s voice is obvious.

“Yep.”

“You. And...horses.”

“That’s what I said, Sammy.” Wow. So that’s what it takes to make his little brother speechless. Good to know. Dean runs a hand through his hair, absently noticing how long it’s getting. Almost time to give himself a haircut...

Sam’s brows furrow for a moment before he suddenly straightens. “Wait, I think I remember reading something about this.”

What? “Seriously?” Dean asks, incredulous. When the heck did Sam look up horse therapy? Fuck, probably when he was busy looking up PTSD and trying to be all sneaky about it.

“Yeah!” Sam rushes over to his laptop sits down on the chair, popping the lid open. Dean watches bemusedly. Sam types quickly, then stands to bring the laptop over to Dean.

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. “Dude. I’m good. Really.” Sam seems to deflate in front of his eyes. Oh geez. “Sam, look, it’s just...it’s not my thing, okay? It was just a suggestion, anyways.”

“It’s gotten really good results, Dean.” Sam looks at him eagerly. “And you never know, it might help you.”

“You deaf or something, Sammy?”

“Dean, I really feel that this is something you should look into.”

There goes Sammy with his _feel_ statements again. “No,” he says simply, voice hard. He turns his back on his brother and walks out of the door into the rain, screen slamming behind him. He hears Sam take a deep breath and follow him outside. Dean’s back tenses as he feels Sam come up behind him, and it’s all he can do not to clench his fists at the need to escape.

“Dean,” Sam says, his voice soft. He doesn’t make a move to touch Dean, he knows better than that. Instead he waits for Dean to turn around and acknowledge him.

Finally, the feeling of someone behind him gets to be too much and Dean whirls around. “What part of no don’t you understand, Sam? It’s bad enough you make me go to a freakin’ shrink. I don’t need to do _that_ , too! It’s already enough, damn it!” His voice cracks at the end, and he hates that. Hates that _this_ is who he is reduced to. He backs up a couple steps, needing to put some space between him and his brother. Sam lets him. His eyes are doing that damn puppy dog look, and Dean shakes his head helplessly. “No.”

Sam holds up his hands, a mock gesture of surrender if Dean ever saw one. He _knows_ Sam isn’t going to let this go forever. “Okay, Dean. Okay.” He chews on his lip and regards Dean cautiously. Like he’s going to fucking break, or something. “How about we make something for dinner? It’s been awhile since we did that together. It’ll be nice.”

Nice. What a novel concept. _Nothing_ in this world is nice, learned _that_ the hard way. But Dean surrenders to Sammy’s wishes, just as he always ends up doing in the end. He is willing to give him _nice_ for an evening, at least. “Yeah. Just gimme a minute, I’ll be right in.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just walks back into the house, and Dean scrubs a hand over his face. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ He slams his fist into the smooth, worn side of the house, barely noticing the brief flash of pain as his hand collides with the wood. He shakes his hand out absently, spinning around and leaning on the rail. The rain is gentle as it caresses his face like a cold lover, and he lets a tear fall, knowing it will go unnoticed.

How long is this shit gonna go on for? Fuck...maybe Ellen and Sam are right...nothing else seems to be working. He’s still fucked. His thoughts slide back to that horrible place in his mind, and he grimaces as his hands start to shake. Pushing down the oncoming flashback by sheer force of will, he raises his arm and pushes the heel of one shaking hand into his forehead and groans.

Okay. Okay, he can do this. He takes a deep breath and heads back into the house where his brother is waiting for him in the kitchen. Sam is digging around in the fridge, and glances up when Dean comes in. He slowly straightens and offers Dean a small smile. “How about steak? I bought some this week.” He holds up the package in his hand.

They stare at each other a moment, Sam is obviously trying to make Dean happy. And he gets some credit, steak _does_ make for a happy Dean...Usually. Dean nods. “Sure. So, ummm… Look, I’ll give this thing a shot, okay?”

Sam’s smile is so wide it looks like it’ll break his face. What a dork. “Really?” He puts the meat down on the counter and almost moves to give Dean a hug, catching himself just in time. “That’s… That’s great, Dean!”  

“Yeah…” Dean shuffles awkwardly, Sam’s a little too close for comfort right now. Looking around for a distraction, Dean’s eyes land on the package on the counter. “So,” he coughs out. “Dinner?”

They work in companionable silence preparing the food. Dean feels the tension slowly leave him as they work. Even finds it in himself to make a couple jokes. At his brother’s expense, of course. All the best jokes are, after all.

Dinner conversation is kept to a minimum as the two Winchesters eat. Basic stuff. It’s nice, until Sam opens his fat mouth and ruins it all. “I talked to Dad today,” he says calmly as he takes a bite of food.

Dean’s fork freezes on its way to his mouth. “Is that so?” He forces himself to shovel it the rest of the way in, staring at his plate.

Sam sighs and puts down his own fork. “He asked about you. How you were holding up.”

Dean glowers. “Well, that’s awful nice of him. Where was the bastard when I needed him?” He hasn’t talked to his dad since Sam told him that his eldest son can’t take care of himself. That he let himself be ruined, unable to fight off one dude. Pathetic, and his dad knows it. _Everyone_ knows it. He remembers clearly the expression on his dad’s face. How he had recoiled in anger. Right before he walked out of Dean’s life.

“Dean…” The exasperation in Sam’s voice is clear. “He - ”

That’s it! Dean pushes himself away from the table abruptly. “I’m going to bed.” He leaves the remnants of his dinner on the table. Who cares? He’s had barely any appetite lately anyways, but unfortunately it’s starting to show. His face is gaunter than it usually is, and his belt is slowly getting smaller.

He hears his brother push his own plate away, but he can’t bring himself to care. He makes it down the hall to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He sits down heavily on his bed, locking his hands behind his head and gently rocking his upper body back and forth, a nervous tic he seems to have developed recently. Ellen would have a heyday if she saw this.

At the mention of his dad, he had felt a mixture of need and dread swirl up and engulf him. He grew up idolizing the man, swept up in giant bear hugs that protected him from the world when he was a child. He couldn’t bear to hear the disappointment he knows is in his father’s voice now. Disappointment in _him_ . Because he let it happen. Because he’s _weak_.

Stupid. Worthless. Weak. Useless. The words swirl around Dean’s head on repeat, until he can swear he is right back there, hearing them whispered in his ear in a vile voice, feeling calloused hands on his face. The strong scent of his own blood and vomit fills his nostrils and he pulls back with a cry, startled when there is no resistance, and comes back to himself, breathing heavily.  

Fuck! Why did Sam have to take his fucking drugs? He presses his hands into his eyes, willing the tears he can feel building to back the fuck off. They do, eventually, and he curls up on his bed on top of the covers.

~*~*~*~

_When Dean comes to, the first thing he is aware of is cold, hard cement digging into his cheek. Wha-? How much did he fucking have to drink? Jesus. He groans, and moves to bring his arms around to push himself up, only to be brought up short._

_His eyes fly open, ignoring the sharp lance of pain that stabs through his skull, as what little light there is pierces his skull. He pulls on his arms, the sharp bite of roughened rope preventing him from bringing his hands to the front. Now that he notices his hands, he feels the same wrapped tightly around his ankles._

_What happened? He tries to remember. It feels like it should be just there, but it keeps slipping out of reach. Nausea coils in his gut the harder he tries to remember, and he grimaces. Blood trails down his face in a thick, crimson river, and he blinks heavily in an effort to keep it out of his eyes as much as possible._

_He tries to feel the rope biting into his wrists, and it dawns on him. His clothes are gone. What the fuck! Where-? Panic flares up and he loses the battle with the nausea, expelling the contents of his stomach over the concrete floor inches in front of his face. He whimpers softly, and tries his best to inch away from the foul smelling puddle. He manages to wiggle himself into a sitting position. Okay, not good for the stomach...But the nausea passes this time. Thank fuck._

_Dean looks around the room he’s held in. It appears to be a basement...And an old one at that. God, where is he? Is he even still in Lawrence? Some shelves line one wall, but from where he is sitting, he can’t tell if there is anything useful on them. An old, ratty looking pile of laundry lays in a corner beside a rusty washing machine and dryer. Dean strains his eyes, but can’t see his clothes in the pile. But any clothes are better than no clothes._

_He coughs, wincing as it aggravates the pounding in his head. Jesus, what the fuck hit him? He’s just pushing himself onto his knees to head over to the pile of clothes when the door at the top of the stairs opens with a creak._

_“Who’s there?” Dean snarls, tugging harshly on his bindings. When Michael steps down into Dean’s sightline, everything comes rushing back. That fucker! “What the fuck did you do to me, you dickwad! Where the fuck are my clothes?”_

_Michael doesn’t answer, just walks forward until he is in front of Dean, an odd smile on his face. He crouches down in front of Dean’s face, extending a hand and cupping Dean’s cheek, running his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. The gesture is too intimate, too loving, and Dean wants to vomit at the touch._

_Fuck that! Dean pulls his head back. “Get off me, you sicko!” The hand follows his head, and Dean desperately snaps his teeth at it, just barely missing as it is pulled away. A second later, it is back, all trace of gentleness gone as Michael grips his jaw forcefully and bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss._

_No! Dean struggles to pull away, and this time, Michael lets him go. Dean flies back and almost loses his balance, but managed to catch himself in time. He spits off to the side angrily. “This how you gotta get your rocks off?” he taunts, using anger to cover up the fear he’s feeling. “Gotta tie someone up, otherwise they won’t touch you, will they?”_

_Now Michael grins at him. “I don’t want anyone else, Dean,” he says. “Just you. And I am sorry about the little blow to the head. I really am.” Yeah. Sure you are, asshole. “But I wouldn’t have had to do that if you had just accepted my invitation.”_

_Invitation? To the fucking barbeque? “And what would’ve happened then? Huh? Would you have drugged me in front of people? ‘Cause I gotta say, man, I wouldn’t ever have came willingly.”_

_Michael shakes his head. “There was only supposed to be you, Dean. It was only ever supposed to be you.”_


	2. Chapter Two

### Chapter Two

 

Dean gets out of the car and looks around. Fields of green surround him on both sides. The grass is tall enough in a few spots to wave gently in the soft breeze, but for the most part it’s just a carpet of green, shorn by the teeth of horses. White fencing surrounds the pastures, paint just starting to peel in some areas but still contrasting nicely with the green of the grass. A few trees grow strong, reaching up into the sky with their leafy canopies.

And then of course, there are the horses. From where he stands, Dean can see a few. Less than he was expecting, but more than he had hoped. Browns, blacks, grays, and a couple with more than one colour munch away on the grass. What a boring life horses must have… Eat and shit. And sometimes have to work with people. Dean decides at that moment he would never like to be a horse. ‘Cause the eating and shitting? That he can get behind. But having to do whatever people want? Nope. No way, Jose. Not for him.

He steps over to the fence and leans on it with an elbow as he waits for Ellen to get out of her car. He shoves his other hand into his pocket and thinks about how stupid this whole exercise is. Pretty fucking stupid indeed.

“Castiel!” Ellen’s voice startles him out of his observation, and he looks over to see her waving at some guy wearing jeans and a baseball cap who was just about to enter one of the pastures.

The guy turns, and Dean is immediately struck by how intense the guy looks. Geez, he must really be into horses. The eager gaze turns onto him, and he swallows heavily at how uncomfortable it makes him. But Ellen is right beside him, and if he’s _ever_ going to convince her that he is okay, that he doesn’t need to play with _horses_ , then he needs to put on a brave front.

“Dean, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is Dean.” Ellen introduces them to each other when Castiel comes close enough. “Dean, Castiel is goin’ to be helping us with the horses.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel sticks the hand not holding the nylon thing hand out enthusiastically. When Dean makes no move forward to shake it, he drops it with a small shrug.

Dean crosses his arms across his chest. He knows it makes him look closed off, but right at this moment he doesn’t care. Closed off is the look he’s going for. He shoots a glare over to Ellen. She never said there would be someone _else_ here to witness him flounder and drown. And he will, he knows it.

Ellen doesn’t say anything, just raises her eyebrows. Play along nicely. He can practically hear the words she doesn’t say with that look. Great. Knowing his luck, she’d probably rat him out to Sam as soon as they left, patient confidentiality be damned. Then he’d have to deal with a disappointed little brother for, like...ever. Not fun.

Fine. “Hi,” he says. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t sound as brittle as it feels.

Castiel beams at him. Dean narrows his eyes. The fuck is up with this guy?

“I was just going to get one of the horses right now. Feel free to come with me.” He holds up the blue thing in his hands. Must be some sort of horse catching...thing.

Dean opens his mouth to say ‘no, thanks’, but Ellen beats him to the punch. “Sure. Let’s go, Dean.” Bitch.

Castiel heads back over to the gate with Ellen, and Dean follows reluctantly. This is so stupid, and he never agreed to air any of his issues in front of some stranger. Fuck! It’s bad enough with Ellen. And Sam.

He shuffles after them, making faces as he is forced to sidestep steaming piles of horse shit. Fucking gross. He better not have to buy all new boots after this little experiment in futility. If he does, Ellen is gonna be the one paying for them. Not like she doesn’t make enough money.

Castiel slows down to walk beside Dean, who immediately moves away, a warning growl in his throat. Castiel doesn’t seem to notice. “Have you ever worked with horses, Dean? I grew up around them, my parents had a big ranch. They’re my favorite animal. Well, horses and bees. Bees are pretty awesome.”

That’s it? No...What the heck happened to you? Why is your mind so fucked you need equine psycho-whatzit? Nope. Just...horses and bees. Dean raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond.

“There’s our boy!” Castiel raises a hand and points to a fairly large horse to their left, blue rope swinging wildly. Dean flinches at the motion, unable to catch himself in time. Castiel freezes, a look of self recrimination on his face. “Oh! I am sorry, Dean!” He sounds truly sorry, and so earnest, and Dean feels the flash of fear leave him as quickly as it comes.

He takes a step back, but offers a small smile, which Castiel returns gratefully. Ellen watches them both intently. Dean scratches his head, feeling his face flush, and looks over at the large animal that Castiel had pointed out earlier. “So, uhh...The horse?”

“Right!” Castiel starts walking again, slower this time. “His name is Tonka.”

“Like the truck?” Dean asks incredulously. Man, horses have weird names. Oh well, at least this one isn’t some long ass name, like he saw on some racehorses back when his dad and Uncle Bobby used to take him and Sam to the track.

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I suppose like the truck.” He reaches the horse and raises a hand to pet the animal on the neck. “Right, Tonka? Tonka truck?” he coos softly.

Dean rolls his eyes and looks at the horse. He’s a colour Dean has never seen before. His body is a unique blend of red and white, his mane, tail, and legs are a solid black, and his head is a deep red. If Dean was a girl, he’d say the horse was _pretty_ . But he’s not a girl, so he doesn’t say anything except, “What the hell kind of of colour _is_ that?”

Castiel looks over at him from where he rubbing Tonka’s neck vigorously. “It’s called a bay roan. Come pet him. He loves neck scratches, don’tcha boy?”

Dean backs up one step further. “‘M okay.” He has zero desire to get close to such a large and unpredictable animal. _Why_ on earth Ellen and Sam thought this would be a good idea is beyond him. Maybe he should just go...

“Dean, you said you’d give this a shot.” Ellen tuts gently. “But I don’t want to push you into something that makes you uncomfortable.”

Dean sighs. “No offense Ellen, Castiel, I just…” He backs up a step further. “I just don’t see how this can help me. I’m sorry.”

He sees Ellen’s shoulders drop. He feels disappointment in himself and has no idea why, even though it’s certainly not a new feeling for him. He doesn’t owe her anything. Heck, he didn’t even want a therapist to begin with! That was all _Sam’s_ doing. Castiel drops his hand and he looks at Dean with wide blue eyes that are eerily reminiscent of Sammy’s puppy dog look. God, really? Another one?

Castiel frowns slightly, but lifts up the thing in his hands and slowly buckles it onto the horse’s head. Dean watches him, watches the gentleness of the hands that stroke the head, the fondness in the gaze of the blue eyes.

When Castiel turns those eyes to Dean, he quickly snaps his eyes away, not wanting to be caught watching. He instead glances over at Ellen, who is watching him with a small smile on her face.

“Dean, can I have a moment with you, please?” She motions for him to follow her.

He grimaces, but follows anyways. What choice does he really have? They make their way back to the fence. Dean chances a glance behind him, to where Castiel is resting his forehead against Tonka’s. The sight tugs at something in him, and he shoves it down roughly, not wanting to feel anything. Ever. Life is easier without feelings. He felt so much before, and look what it got him. Pain. Humiliation. Anger. Basically the world just gave him the giant middle finger, and laughed while it did it.

“Dean, I know you don’t want to be here.” Ellen’s voice jolts him out of his reverie. He snorts. Gee, what was her first clue? “But you aren’t even trying.”

“‘Cause this is stupid!” he snaps. “And you never told me that someone else would be involved. What did you tell him, huh, Ellen?” He jabs a finger in her direction, and feels a perverse stab of satisfaction when she takes a step back. “You tell him how fucked I am? That I’m...That I’m some sort of broken loser? Huh?”

Ellen takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, Dean. For one, you aren’t broken. And for another, Castiel knows nothing, and he won’t. He is only here to help with the horse, I give you my word. We won’t be discussing anything in front of him. This is simply an exercise to help you build your confidence back up, that’s all. It’s not a therapy session like we have in the office.”

Oh, and he’s just supposed to take her at her _word_ , is that it? He scrubs a hand down his face. He can feel the tremors starting in his hands that indicate an oncoming attack, and he clenches his fists until they are white, unwilling to go through one in view of both Ellen _and_ Castiel.

Silence reigns for several minutes, as Ellen allows Dean a respite in order to collect himself. He turns and grips the railing, sucking in a deep breath through gritted teeth. He pushes all thoughts of Michael and what happened with him down, burying it deep and ignoring the twinge of embarrassed panic that flashes through him.

Finally he turns to Ellen. “You don’t say anything to him, do you hear me?” It’s a statement more than a question, and Ellen seems to realize that. She doesn’t say a word, just nods in agreement.

“Okay.” He nods his head once. “Okay. Let’s get this over with then.” He takes a deep breath and points out to Castiel and the horse. “But I am _not_ walking out to get him. I don’t do horse shit.”

~*~*~*~*~

Dean watches Castiel pick up a couple of brushes. He says nothing when the other man steps forward, stopping a few feet away and holding out a brush. Dean’s eyes flick down towards the brush being held out to him. He’s not seriously expected to actually _brush_ the animal, is he? No way. He huffs out a breath and crosses his arms.

Castiel waits patiently for Dean to take the brush, eyebrows raised over his earnest looking eyes. When Dean doesn’t move at all, Castiel sighs quietly and drops the arm holding the other brush. He stares at Dean for a minute, somehow managing to look both curious and sad at the same time.

Dean clenches his jaw. He refuses to be swayed by some stranger. Especially one who smells like a horse. Fuck that.

Behind him he can hear Ellen clear her throat. Oh, right. He gave his word that he would at least _try._ Godammit. Dean Winchester never goes back on his word. He clenches his jaw, but reaches his hand out for the brush.

The smile Castiel gives him is bright, and Dean can’t help it. He finds himself giving a small smile in return. The feel of unused muscles is strange. Guess that’s what happens when someone doesn’t smile much anymore. Not that he has reason to.

He takes a hesitant step towards the horse. Tonka’s deep brown eyes watch him steadily as he lazily chews a mouthful of...is that green hay? Dean reaches out and lifts the brush to the horse’s soft coat.

“Follow the direction of his coat hair,” Castiel says quietly as he steps back to give Dean more room.

Once his personal space is no longer feeling violated, Dean feels some of the tension that had been slowly building up dissipate, and he nods before moving the brush in tentative strokes down the horse’s powerful neck. He can feel Tonka quiver his muscles as he arches into the brush. His long black tail swishes lazily back and forth.

Dean flicks his eyes over the top of the animal and sees Castiel brushing Tonka with an intense look of concentration, tongue poking out slightly in between chapped lips. When Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s, he hurriedly looks back down to what he’s doing, moving the brush over so he’s brushing Tonka’s side. He can feel his cheeks flush slightly in emabarrasment at getting caught looking.

Ellen steps into the stall and her lips turn up into a smile. “How’s it going, Dean?” she asks.

Dean shrugs. How the heck does she _think_ it’s going? “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he replies sourly.

“Dean, that’s not appropriate,” she chides.

Dean wants to tell her where she can stick it, but the manners his father drilled into him from a young age prevented that. Always be respectful to your elders. And ladies. “Sorry, ma’am.” He clears his throat and adds, “I’m super-dee-duper.”

Ellen raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment further. Instead, she reaches out and runs a hand down Tonka’s flank, a look of peace on her face. The horse turns his head and watches her before going back to his food.

Dean pauses in his brushstrokes. Maybe Ellen is the one who would do better with this horse therapy thing. It looks like ten years dropped from her when she touched the horse.

She glances up and notices Dean watching her. She offers him a small smile. “I used to have my own horse when I was growing up,” she explains, a wistful note entering her voice. “After my parents died, I lived with my aunt and uncle on their farm. Blackjack helped me heal from their deaths.”

Dean looks down. Well, that explains why Ellen is an advocate of this horse therapy thing. “Sorry about your parents,” he says in a subdued voice. He knows how it feels to lose one parent. Though he might argue he has lost both, just not to death.

Ellen grins ruefully. “I appreciate that, Dean. But it was a long time ago, and like I said, I had my aunt and uncle and Blackjack to help me deal with it.” She steps away from Tonka and nods at Dean. “How are you doing with the brushing?”

Oh, right. Dean picks up where he left off, moving the brush stiffly along the coat, trying not to touch the horse. “It’s going.” God, he’s gonna need, like, ten showers after this.

“I like to use my hand and follow the brush after each stroke,” Castiel supplies helpfully. “I find I get a better connection to him by doing that. Also, it feels really nice.”

Dean blinks. Why the fuck would he want a connection? He’s not a horse. “‘M good,” he says shortly. In fact, he needs a drink. Or a hit. Either one would do right now, but thanks to Sammy, he’s pretty much just got one option. He drops the brush on the ground, sending dust from the hay swirling up into the air, and turns to Ellen. “I’m going to the washroom.”

Ellen eyes him critically and nods. “Follow me.” She turns and heads down the aisle.

When they reach the washroom, Ellen turns to Dean. “Give me your coat.”

Busted! Dean takes a step back. “What? Why?”

“Because you are on my watch, and I won’t have you taking anything or drinking while I am around.” Ellen’s no nonsense voice leaves no room for argument. She holds out her hand expectantly. “Coat.”

Well, fuck. How did she know? Oh. Right. Therapist. His eyes glance at the washroom door then back to Ellen. Fuck. His hands finger the cool, comforting metal of his flask in his pocket. Why can’t she understand that he _needs_ this. That this is the fraying thread holding him together? He shakes his head. “On second thought, I don’t have to go.”

He turns and heads back the way they came. Behind him he hears Ellen say his name with a sigh. Whatever. He’s used to failing people. What’s one more?

As he heads down the aisle of stalls, a large golden head suddenly pokes out over one of the doors right in front of him. Dean jerks to a stop and regards the horse warily. The horse nickers softly at him.

Dean glances over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone, particularly Ellen, is behind him. There is no one to be seen. Ellen must have had to make her own pit stop. He steps forward and shakily raises a hand to the animal, placing it on the soft hair under the ears.

“Hey, buddy,” he says quietly. The liquid brown eyes watch him warmly, and Dean can’t detect a trace of judgement in them. He closes his eyes and breathes out, stepping closer and marvelling at the soft texture beneath his hands. God, he is turning into such a girl with this.

He feels the horse lean into his hands and hears it groan in pleasure. The sound brings a slight grin to his face and he rubs the neck more firmly. “Ya like that, hey?”

Dean opens his eyes, and is greeted by the sight of blue eyes watching him from a few stalls away. He lurches back, and the head disappears back into the stall with a frightened snort.

Castiel backs away hurriedly, holding up his hands. “Sorry,” he says. “I just was coming to find you and Ellen and saw you petting Sunny.”

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Dean says harshly, breathing heavily. His hands are shaking and he clenches and unclenches his fists, refusing to give into the urge to punch something. Or someone. _Jesus_.

Castiel flinches. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.  

Well, shit. The guy looks so pathetically sad, that Dean feels some of the anger and nervousness leave him. “‘S okay,” he replies. “Just...just don’t do that again.”

Sunny, for his part, seems to sense that the danger has passed, and shoves his head back out, stretching his long neck towards Dean. Dean scowls at the horse and steps back out of its reach. Stupid animal. Distraction, that’s what it is. Goddamn fucking distraction.

“May I?”

Dean looks up at the tentative voice to see Castiel gesturing towards the horse. Sunny, right. He nods and steps back further out of reach, but gestures for Castiel to move forward.

The other man does, slowly. When he reaches Sunny, he smiles at the animal. Sunny whickers and his head bobs as Castiel reaches him. Jeez, is this guy the horse whisperer or what?

“Sunny was one of the first horses I worked with here.” Castiel says, a gentle smile on his face as he pets the horse’s cheek. “He is my friend. Aren’t you, Sunny?”

Okay…’cause _that’s_ not weird at all. Dean hears the soft click of heels coming around the corner. Must be Ellen. He hates the thought that he would have someone at his back, so he twists so he is flat against a stall. The stall is empty, thank God for small mercies. Only two people and one horse to see how pathetic he is.

Ellen comes into view. Her calculating eyes look between him and Castiel. “Dean,” she says. “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? What is that? Like, a loaded question or something? _No_. No, he’s not okay. Dean bites his lip. “I’m done,” he says shortly.

Ellen regards him intently, and Dean shifts uncomfortably. Her eyes are practically making him itch. “Okay, Dean. We can stop for today.”

For to-Wait, _what?_ Dean rolls his lips against his teeth. Whatever. They can’t force him to come back. Besides, he gave it a shot, just like he promised. He nods once, sharply. His long strides hurry him out of the stable to the Impala - _safety_ \- and he doesn’t look at or say anything to Castiel. But he can feel the weight of the other man’s sad gaze follow him all the way out. And he is certain he still feels it when he finally gets home.


	3. Chapter Three

### Chapter Three

 

Dean hadn’t seen Sam yesterday, having gone right into his room before Sam got home from wherever he was, and not coming out of it until late at night when he knew Sam was asleep. But he knows he can’t avoid his brother forever. So when the sunlight is bright through the blinds in his room, Dean rolls himself off the bed with a sigh and looks around his room for a clean pair of pants. Damn, he should really do some laundry...Fuck it. He snags the first pair he sees and does the sniff test. Shrugging, he pulls them on.

Sitting on his bed and chewing his lip, Dean reaches into his dresser drawer and pulls out the bottle of whiskey he has stashed in there. He holds it up to his face and stares into the amber liquid, distorting the room on the other side of the bottle.

He used to be stronger than this. He used to not need alcohol to make it through the day. To make it through the next hour, the next five minutes. But the memory of who he used to be is weak, and fading even more with each passing day. He used to be stronger. But now…? Now he takes a drink, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. Now he is weak.

After several swallows, Dean drops the now empty bottle on the floor. He watches apathetically as it rolls, only stopping when it hits the corner of his nightstand with a soft clink. He makes a mental note to stop in at the liquor store this afternoon to stock up again. That was his last bottle. Damn it.

Sighing loudly to himself, Dean stands and heads towards the door, damn near tripping over a pile of shirts. Yup. Definitely laundry time. He yanks the door open and shuffles out into the hallway, yawning loudly. His brother’s head pokes around the corner of the kitchen, grinning at him widely. Way to early, Sammy. Way. Too. Early.

“Hey, Dean! Sorry I missed you last night.”

That was on purpose, Sam. Dean shrugs and turns into the kitchen, sidestepping Sam’s enormous body as he heads straight for the coffee pot.

He hears Sam sniff behind him. “Dean,” Sam’s voice is reproachful. “You’ve been drinking already? It’s not even noon yet, man!”

Dean doesn’t answer, instead reaching for a mug and pouring himself a cup of brew. He takes a sip and makes a face. One of these days, he is gonna have to teach his little brother how to make a proper pot of coffee. It’s not hard.

Thankfully, Sam drops the drinking-so-damn-early inquisition, but when Dean turns around he can see the resting bitchface Sam is wearing. Whatever. Nothing unusual there.

“How did it go yesterday?” Sam asks.

Dean still doesn’t say anything, just offering yet another shrug.

“Dean…”

Dean clenches his jaw. Fuck, fine. “Well, I got to play with horsies, Sammy. It was a dream come true. For you.” He picks up his mug of weak-ass coffee and heads out of the kitchen. Sam follows. Of course he does.

“Dean, please.” The pleading sound of Sammy’s voice stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn around, but he stands there with his eyes closed. Damn it, Sam. “I just...I just want you to heal. Please, just...just talk to me.”

Now Dean turns, and regards his brother critically. The bags under Sam’s eyes stand out, and his hair is in complete disarray. Wrinkled clothes, and frown lines that have seemingly popped up out of nowhere. God, is _he_ doing this to his brother? One more thing he is fucking up. Just add it to the list.

He swallows and stares at the floor, unable to look at Sam any longer. “Nothin’ to say that I haven’t said before, Sammy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sam scrub a hand over his face. “Look, yesterday was pretty fuckin’ stupid, ‘m not gonna lie. I still don’t see how horses are going to help me. Like, at all. And there was this...this guy.” Dean puts his cup on the counter and picks the pot up to refill it as he tries to figure out how to describe Castiel to his brother. Weird? Would that work?

Sam doesn’t press him. He knows better than that. Dean can hear him waiting with baited breath. “Well, he’s the, uhh...helper, I guess.” Dean scratches his chin. “Really...uhhh...different.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him. “Like, good different, or bad different?”

Dean can hear the protectiveness in his little brother’s voice. Used to be that Dean would be the protector. Oh how the wheels have turned...And Dean knows without a doubt he could put a stop to this whole horse bullshit right now. If Sam thinks Dean feels threatened, there’s no way he would push for him to try again. He’s about to do just that, when Castiel’s eager blue eyes flash into his mind. What he says instead is, “No. Not bad, just different is all.”

Fuck. “It’s…” He trails off. “You know what? Fuck you.”

Sam grins at him and doesn’t say anything.

Double fuck. “Look, he’s okay. Okay?”

“Sorry, Dean. I just think it’s great that you met a guy that you uhhh…”

Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Sammy.

“Might be friends with. Possibly.”

Ass. But...maybe? Castiel is probably the least threatening person Dean has ever met. He’s so damn eager to help. Dean looks at Sam’s eager face. Fuck. Guess he’s gonna go see some horses.

~*~*~*~

Ellen was extremely pleased when Dean had told her that he was willing to give it another go. The smile Dean sees on her face when he pulls the Impala beside her car is wide and open.

“Dean,” she says. “Glad you decided to give it another shot.”

A shrug. “Yeah, well...Sammy thought it’d be good for me to try again.” No way in hell is he gonna say that he kind of is hoping to see Castiel again. Nope.

Dean looks around, trying to look casual as he glances for Castiel. He tries not to feel the twinge of disappointment when he doesn’t see him. Jesus, he just met the guy. Maybe Sam is right, maybe he _does_ need a friend. Oh god. That’s just pathetic.

A quick look over to Ellen shows her scanning around as well, eyebrows furrowed. Dean clears his throat, and Ellen’s eyes look over to him. “So, uhhh…” he starts. “We gonna do this? Or do we have to wait for that Castiel guy?” He thinks he sounds nonchalant. Hopefully.

“He should have been here waiting for us,” Ellen murmurs.

The rumble of a large diesel motor reaches Dean’s ears from around the bend in road, and a minute later a shiny, black Dodge Ram comes into view, hauling a short silver horse trailer behind it. The truck pulls up beside them, and Dean coughs a bit on the cloud of dust that settles around him.

When Castiel steps down out of the cab of the truck, Dean’s eyebrows jump in surprise. Okay, so he did _not_ see Castiel in a truck. A beater car, maybe. Not a truck. _Definitely_ not such a massive truck.

“Dean! Hey, Ellen!” Castiel greets him enthusiastically. He makes no move towards him, but his smile is wide and open, and his blue eyes are sparkling. Wow, the blue in his eyes matches the blue of his shirt in a pretty crazy way.

“Hey, Castiel.”

“Hello, Castiel,” Ellen greets with a smile of her own.

A loud bang from the horse trailer causes Dean to jump, face paling. Jesus! He can feel his heart racing. Two sets of eyes are on him, concern evident in both. “‘M okay,” he mutters, embarrassment bringing colour back into his face. Don’t say anything, _please_ don’t say anything…

Ellen clears her throat. “So, Castiel. Who’s in the trailer?”

Thank-you, Ellen!

Castiel pulls his eyes away from Dean to look behind him at the horse trailer in surprise, as though he has completely forgotten about it. His face lights up. “Oh!” he says excitedly. “That’s Thunder and Rebel!”

Okay. So _those_ horses have cool names. Dean watches as Castiel hurries over to the back of the trailer and heaves it open.

“Do you need any help?” Ellen calls.

“I’m good!” Castiel’s voice echoes out of the trailer. Dean can hear the hooves clomping on the floor of the trailer, and then a moment later he steps around the corner leading a black horse. And holy shit...Dean has never seen a horse so black it shines so bright. Not a speck of color on it. _Wicked_!

“This is Thunder,” Castiel says proudly, liked he birthed the beast himself or something. “She’s my number one girl! My friend had her bred to his stallion last year for me.” He stands beside her, head barely over the top of her back.

A tiny nicker sounds from behind them, and Dean leans forward on his toes to peer around the side of the big, black horse. And, yup, it’s official. That is the coolest looking baby horse in the world. It’s a weird mixture of white and tan colour. White stretches across the velvety-looking nose and up one side of the face, and from where Dean is standing he’s pretty certain one shoulder is also covered in a patch of white, as well as the legs. The rest is a soft, pale brown the colour of sand. White and black hairs stand up in spikes along the neck. The baby plasters itself as close as possible to the black horse, before turning its head to examine its new surroundings curiously.

“That’s Rebel.” Castiel nods at the baby. “She’s Thunder’s foal.”

“Oh, Castiel,” Ellen gushes. “She’s _beautiful_!”

And that is exactly why Dean doesn’t say what he is thinking. He’d probably sound just as girly as Ellen. And _that_ is so not cool.

“I know! I was hoping she’d look like either Thunder or Diesel. Chuck’s stallion is also a buckskin tobiano, same as Rebel here. So there was a decent chance. But we didn’t know what Thunder here would throw, so I lucked out.” He pats Thunder’s neck firmly with a fond smile. Then he turns those blue eyes on Dean. “Thunder’s a really calm girl. I thought it might be good for you to work with her, Dean.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Uhhh, sure.” He’s still not one hundred percent on board with this horse thing. But he finds his gaze drawn again and again to the little horse, who he is startled to realize is looking right at him.

Castiel seems to notice the direction of Dean’s gaze, and smiles knowingly. “Perhaps you can help me with Rebel, too. It would be a huge help to me. Two people is always better when working with the young ones.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s true or if Castiel is saying that for his benefit, but well...he can’t really deny the fact that he kind of wants to put his hands in that soft looking fur...Fuck! He’s turning into a goddamn girl!

“Dean,” Ellen says. “Why don’t you take Thunder’s lead and walk her to the barn?”

He sighs, but nods. He _did_ promise Sammy he’d give this a shot. “Okay,” he says.

Castiel holds the rope out to him, and Dean swallows past the sudden dryness in his throat. It’s just a rope. Just a damn horse rope. He forces himself to step forward and take it, doing his best to ignore how it feels in his hand. To ignore the memories drudged up. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, Castiel is smiling encouragingly at him. Yup. Okay, got this.

He turns and walks towards the barn. This beast better not step on him! But Thunder plods along, neck low to the ground as she snuffles the drive as she walks. Dean looks over his shoulder just in time to see Rebel rear up on tiny hooves and bite her mom’s side, squealing playfully. Ouch! That has to _hurt_. Dean knows for a fact he wouldn’t want those teeth biting him, nosiree. But Thunder doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she outright ignores the little horse.

Castiel and Ellen follow the group at a leisurely pace. Oddly, having the horse as a buffer eases Dean’s mind, and he finds he is not quite as panicked at having people behind him. He sees that both have smiles on their faces as they watch Rebel try to taunt her mom into playing.

“She’s quite the rambunctious one, Castiel,” Ellen says. “You’re going to have your hands full with her.”

Dean hears Castiel hum in agreement. He turns back around to see they have reached the barn entrance, so he stops to wait for the others to catch up. He has no idea where Castiel wants him to put the horse. He reaches out with the hand not holding the rope and scratches the black horse on the forehead. This is...kind of nice, actually.

A sudden, loud crash startles him, and he drops the rope and jumps back. Thunder takes an alarmed step sideways, but Dean barely notices, too lost in _Jesusfuckingchrist-nononono-_... His heart is beating a harsh rhythm against his breastbone. It takes a minute for Dean to come back to himself, and when he does he sees Ellen staring at him with concern, even as Castiel grabs Thunder’s rope and chides, “Rebel!”

What the- Was that the little _horse?_ Dean catches his breath, giving Ellen a small nod - _I’m okay -_ before he looks over to see what had caused the commotion. Sure enough, Rebel is standing amidst fallen broomsticks and a bucket, a leather harness thing - just like the one on Thunder’s face - clenched between her teeth as she tosses her head up and down, completely oblivious to the drama she had caused.

Dean brings a hand up to scratch at the side of his neck. Okay... _that_ was embarrassing. He clears his throat and tries to recover some face. “So, guess you picked a good name for that one.”

Castiel looks over at him. He has one hand holding Thunder’s rope, and with the other he’s trying futilely to pull the leather out of Rebel’s mouth, who is stubbornly holding on. It paints such a ridiculous picture, that Dean can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. It feels good. Good, but strange. He’s laughed so little this year, after all.

Finally, Castiel manages to pull the leather out of Rebel’s mouth, and he uses the straps to shoo the little horse away from the mess on the floor. She prances away and back to her mother’s side. Castiel stares at the mess in consternation.

Ellen steps forward then. “Castiel, why don’t you go and get Thunder and Rebel settled. Dean, help me clean this up, would you?”

“Uhhh...Sure.” Dean steps forward, still feeling the pull of a smile.

“Thank you, Ellen.” Castiel gives the rope a small tug. “Come on, Thunder. Let’s get you to a stall.”

Dean watches them walk down the aisle and several horse heads poke out from various stalls to watch as well. He shakes his head and turns to where Ellen is crouched, scooping up brushes that must have fallen out of the bucket.

He steps over and picks up a pitchfork, leaning it against the first stall.

“How are you doing, Dean?” Ellen asks him in a quiet voice.

Of course. He knew he’d get some sort of inquisition for his minor flip out. “Fine,” is all he says.

Ellen straightens and hangs the bucket on a hook in the wall, before turning and regarding Dean. “I noticed you jump when Rebel knocked this stuff over,” she says.

“I know.”

“What did you think about when that happened?”

Dean shoves the last shovel into the corner angrily. “Gee, I don’t know, Ellen? What the fuck do you _think_ I thought about? Shit.”

“Language, please. I haven’t done anything to you, and I would ask that you treat me with at least some kindness, Dean.” Her voice is soft, contrasting the sharpness of her words, and Dean deflates.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sighs and leans back against the stall door, crossing his arms in front of him. “It’s just...I don’t…” He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and chews on it. Finally, he huffs out a breath. “I just don’t like being startled. That’s all that was. And I know we don’t talk about it. I always stop before we get to...you know...I can’t yet. Maybe not ever.” He looks at Ellen. Please don’t push for it now. Not while Castiel can come back at any time.

“Dean, I promised we would take this in your own time. I won’t push, as long as you know I am here whenever you are ready to talk.”

Dean nods. “I know.”

“And you know, off the record...I have known Castiel for quite a few years. He is a good guy, Dean. Maybe having a male friend might help you overcome this hump.”

Dean snorts. Yeah. ‘Cause _that’s_ what this is. A hump. But he offers Ellen a weak grin. “Yeah,” is all he says. He clears his throat awkwardly and pushes himself off the door, rubbing his hands together. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”

He waits for Ellen to nod and head down the aisle to where Castiel disappeared, before following her. One thing he is grateful for, that she at least waited until the other man was out of earshot before bringing any of that up.

They find Castiel after a couple minutes. He is in the far side of the barn, where the larger stalls seem to be located. Thunder is munching away on the same green hay that that other horse - Tonka? - was eating, while Rebel is curled up in a ball of legs at her feet. Castiel is brushing Thunder and cooing at her in a soft voice.

He glances up at Ellen and Dean through the bars and smiles. This guy seems to _always_ be smiling. Like nothing bad has ever happened to him. What a novel concept. “Come on in,” he says. “I brought you both a brush.”

“Thank you, Castiel.” Ellen says.

Dean can read the eagerness in her voice. He’s a little less eager, but he won’t deny the twitch in his fingers at the thought of touching that soft fur again. Oh, God...he can practically feel the estrogen racing through his body...But he doesn’t decline when Ellen holds out the brush that Castiel had brought for him.

He stands near Thunder’s head, not wanting to be near her back end. He’s not _that_ comfortable around these animals yet. Best let Ellen and Castiel brush her there. He’s worrying at a patch of dried mud that had been hidden by Thunder’s mane, when he feels a pull on his pant legs.

He almost jumps - _almost_ \- when he catches sight of a white and tan body. Rebel. He pulls his leg back, only to discover it’s still in her teeth. And just like earlier with Castiel and the leather thing, she. Will not. Let. Go.

“Hey!” he chokes out. He pulls his leg back hard, to no avail. Seriously! What the _fuck_ , horse?

Castiel and Ellen peer over and around Thunder. “Oh!” Castiel drops his brush and ducks under Thunder’s neck, shaking his finger as he comes. “Rebel! Drop it!”

Drop it. Like Dean is a ball in a dog’s mouth. He’d almost be offended, if he wasn’t so darn busy trying not to be eaten by a baby demon disguised as a horse. And Thunder, bitch that she is, just continues chewing on her hay instead of reprimanding her little one. Some mother.

Dean drops his own brush and pushes against the baby horse’s head. But that just seems to make her even more determined to eat him, because she digs her forefeet in and yanks. _Hard_.

The sound of his pants ripping is the only sound in the stall, and for a moment nobody says anything or moves. Dean stares in disbelief at the blue fabric hanging from the baby horse’s mouth. She just...Did that just _happen?_

Castiel now has his hands on the fabric hanging out of Rebel’s mouth, and she seems suddenly less interested now that it is not attached to Dean. She opens her mouth and Castiel stumbles backwards from the sudden release of tension.

“Oh my _God!_ ” Dean hisses. “Is she part pitbull, or something? _Fuck_!” These were his favorite jeans, too! Not to mention brand new!

Castiel worries the piece of denim, a distraught look on his face. “Oh. Oh, Dean. I am so sorry! I..I’ll buy you a new pair of pants! Any pair of pants that you want! She’s...I’ve never had a foal act like that...Your _pants!_ ”

And...That. Right there. That was...probably the funniest thing that Dean has ever heard. He bursts out laughing, pant leg be damned. Castiel and Ellen look at him in surprise, but he is too busy laughing to care. Both of their lips twitch up into smiles, and soon they are all laughing.

Jesus. Sam would get a kick out of this. And maybe Dean is developing a soft spot for the little rascal Rebel. What did Castiel call her? Right. A foal. Little foal Rebel.

Dean is still chuckling about it on the drive from the barn, and it’s not until he gets home that he realizes he didn’t think about booze or drugs once.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief flashback at the beginning of this chapter

###  Chapter Four

_ Dean struggles futilely against his bindings as Michael moves away from him towards the shelf in the back, trying to put the picture of a turkey trussed up for Thanksgiving dinner out of his head. It’s what he feels like, though. Helpless and ready to... Jesus! What the fuck is the asshole getting?  _

_Michael turns back towards him, and...is that a fucking_ ** _whip_** _in his hands? Michael comes closer to him and he can clearly see that it is indeed a whip of some sort in his hands. Old brown leather snakes along the cement floor at his feet, barely making a sound. That is, until Michael snaps it a few times, as though practicing._

_ Michael smiles at the widening of Dean’s eyes. “I don’t want to use this, Dean. Believe me.” Yeah right, asshole. “I don’t want to do anything to mar that perfect skin of yours.” _

_ Dean knows the smart thing to do would be to hold his tongue. But he has never really followed his head, preferring instead to lead with his emotions. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps. “What the fuck is  _ **_wrong_ ** _ with you? Did your mom drop you on your head as a baby, huh? Or did your daddy do this to you, and now you feel like you need to carry on the family tradition?”  _

_ He doesn’t get a chance to say any more, because at that precise moment he hears the whip crack, and it’s immediately followed by a line of fire down one side of his ribs, followed closely by another directly underneath the first. Several more follow those. He can’t stop the cry of pain from escaping his lips, and he flings himself backwards in an attempt to distance himself from the source of his pain. _

_ He lands on his back, trapping his hands underneath him. Oh  _ **_fuck_ ** _...Oh fucking Christ on a stick… He heaves in a few deep breaths, trying to calm the raging burn on his side. He can feel wetness drizzle down his side onto the floor.  _

_ “Look at what you made me do!” Michael’s voice filters in through the pain, but Dean doesn’t reply, too busy trying not to groan.  _

_ Not gonna give this asshole any kind of satisfaction. Nope...just...pretend it didn’t hurt. Yeah. Easier said than done though...Gritting his teeth, Dean pushes himself up as best as he is able. His lip curls into a sneer. “That all you got, fucker?” He finally manages to hiss out. He glares at Michael, wishing looks actually could kill. This guy would be dead a thousand times over if they could. _

_ Michael stares at him, a strange look on his face. “I told you, Dean. I didn’t want to do that. But you pushed me. I had to. You understand?” _

_ What? This guy is certifiably buckets of crazy. A few bricks short of a load. Time to try a different route. “Look. If you don’t want to hurt me, how about you just untie me, hey? Then we can sit and discuss what it is you want over a nice cup of coffee or something.” Michael frowns and shakes his head. Well, it was worth a try. _

_ “We are past that, Dean-o. I told you already, I tried that.” Michael sighs. “Now we are just going to have to do this my way.”  _

_ Dean can’t help the flood of relief that fills him when the other man drops the whip, only to have that relief turn to dread when he reaches for his belt buckle. No! Not that! A snarl escapes Dean’s throat as he once again tries desperately to pull his hands free. He barely even feels the rope abrade him raw and the blood making his wrists slick as adrenaline pumps through his system. This is not happening! No!  _

_ “Relax, Dean-o. Or this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me.” _

Dean wakes abruptly and shoots off his bed, just barely making it to the bathroom in time to empty his stomach. His guts heave as he spits bile into the toilet, tears streaming down his face. He finally finishes - there’s nothing left, and isn’t that a perfect description of his own self. His hands are shaking as he flushes the toilet, and he falls back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, feeling sweat roll down the back of his neck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. 

He swipes a still-shaking hand over his brow. Flashes of his nightmare send a shiver up his spine. That was almost the worst part.  _ Almost _ . The knowing what was coming. That brief moment of  _ oh fuck this is going to happen and there’s dick fuck all you can do about it _ … Dean grasps his neck and rocks forward and back, trying not to become lost. 

When a tentative knock sounds at the door, Dean startles with a small cry.

“Dean?” It’s Sam, and his voice sounds small and scared, just like when he was a little boy. “You...you okay in there, man?” 

Dean swipes at the remnants of tears on his face and sniffs. Don’t want Sammy to see he was crying like a baby. Just cause more worry for his little brother. “Yeah, Sammy. Just must have eaten something funky at dinner, that’s all.”

And, just as Dean had known it would, the door handle slowly turns and the door opens with a creak. Sam’s head pokes in the through the crack. “Dean, we ate the exact same thing for dinner, and I feel fine.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, what can I say? You must have an iron stomach.”

“Can I come in?” Sam doesn’t wait for an answer, instead opening the door further and squeezing his massive body into the way too small bathroom. 

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. Hopefully his eyes aren’t as red as they feel... “Dude, the bathroom is like, the ultimate personal space boundary. Don’t you have any respect?”

Sam offers him a small smile. “Nope. Doesn’t look like it.” He sits down on the floor with Dean. His freakishly long legs are too big to straighten fully, so he sits with his knees pulled up and rests his chin on them, staring at Dean with that damn puppy dog look. 

“What?” Dean snaps when the gaze becomes too much for him. 

“Dean, man. You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I heard you while you were sleeping.” Well fuck. “I know you had a nightmare. And I just want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that I am here for you.”

Wow. Cheesy, Sammy. But Dean can’t deny Sam saying he is here helps. In an effort to not be a girl and burst out crying again, Dean rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah. Okay,  _ Ellen _ ,” he says. “Like I said, just something I ate. That’s all.”

“Dean-”

“I said that’s all, Sam! That’s all it is. I don’t have any nightmares. Never have. That was always you, remember, bitch?”

Sam doesn’t seem startled at his outburst. “Of course I remember,  _ jerk _ . And I also remember crying and crawling into bed with you because dad was always too drunk to care! You used to hold me and tell me everything was alright! It always made me feel better after, so just let me return the goddamn favor and stop being a little child about it!” Sam’s voice slowly rose in volume, until he was not quite yelling, but definitely speaking in a scolding voice.

Wow. Sam grew some balls. About time. Dean lets go of his neck and holds up a hand, and is relieved to see it has finally stopped shaking. “Sam,” he placates. “I’m okay, alright? Okay. I  _ might _ have had a nightmare. But not like that’s anything new now, so...”

Sam’s lower lip quivers. “I hate it, Dean.” 

Aww, geez. Don’t start crying, Sammy. Dean reaches over and ruffles Sam’s hair, before shaking his head ruefully and sighing. “Me too, Sammy. Me too.” His head feels heavy, and he lets it fall back. Wow. They need to clean the damn shower. Like, yesterday. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s company. Then Dean raises his head and looks over at Sam, who is busy staring at his feet. “Thanks for checking in on me, Sam,” he says softly. And he means it. He wants to say more -  _ thank you for everything _ \- but he can’t get the words past the choked feeling in his throat.

Sam smiles like he knows what Dean can’t say anyways. “You’re my brother,” he replies with a soft shrug of his shoulder. And that, right there, is everything.

~*~*~*~

Dean is buttering a piece of toast, it’s all he can stomach after the emotional rollercoaster last night, when his phone rings. He drops the toast on the plate and rubs the crumbs off on his pants. Sam will kill him for getting crumbs all over the floor, but whatever. He looks at his phone and sees Ellen’s name come up. Weird. She hasn’t ever talked to him outside of their therapy sessions. What the heck could she be calling him for on a Saturday?

“‘Ello,” he says into the phone. He picks up the plate with the toast on it and moves towards the back door. Sam’s at the kitchen table reading a book and whatever Ellen needs to talk about Dean would rather not have an audience, even after last night. 

“Hello, Dean. It’s Ellen.” 

“Hey.” The screen door slams behind him and he plops himself down in one of their deck chairs. He doesn’t say anything else, instead waiting for Ellen to explain why the fuck she’s calling him. Do therapists normally call their patients like this? He doesn’t think so.

“How are you doing?” she asks. 

“Fine,” he drawls out. “Just peachy. And how are you?”

Ellen chuckles. “I’m fine, thank you.” She pauses. “I’m actually not calling for me,” she says. Oh? “I’m calling for Castiel.” Oh!

Dean clears his throat. “Is that so?” He goes for nonchalant. He might have failed. “What, uhh...What about Castiel?”

“Well, he asked me if you would be willing to help him work with Rebel. He noticed how you were with her and was hoping you’d be willing to help him.”

Dean feels butterflies at the thought that Castiel asked for  _ him _ . But then immediately squashes the feeling, ripping the wings off those damn butterflies. Why would Castiel want  _ him _ around anyways. Dean is dirty. Sullies everything he touches. Other people. Even little horses. Besides, Castiel  _ seems _ nice enough now, but who’s to say he won’t turn on Dean the second they are alone and take whatever the fuck he wants? Happened before...

He must have been too quiet for too long, because Ellen speaks again. “Dean?” she asks. “Hey, it’s okay. If you don’t want to, it’s not a big deal. It’s not part of the program, so you don’t have to feel obligated or anything. But you seemed to respond well to Castiel and I told him I’d ask…” She sounds as though she is about to end the call.

Dammit! Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Wait,” he says to Ellen hesitatingly. Gotta get over this, and Ellen has just presented a perfect opportunity to try. “Ummm...Like, just meeting him at the farm, right?” He winces at how pathetic he sounds. God, why Castiel would even want to spend any time around him is beyond him. 

“Just at the farm,” Ellen confirms. “Listen, Castiel will be there this afternoon at about one o’clock. Feel free to go without me, but don’t feel obliged to. He’s a nice guy, Dean, and won’t do anything...untoward. I promise. I’ve known him a long time.”

Untoward. Right. Dean shifts in his chair. “Is this normal for my therapist to go out and suggest I meet guys? Is it just because you want to share me or what?” he jokes, attempting to use humour to cover the fact that he’s having a rough go. 

And Ellen, being Ellen, can read between the lines. Fuck. “Dean, I’m sorry. This is too soon-It’s just, well...As your therapist I feel it might be a good thing for you start being around men again.”

Dean rolls his eyes, even though Ellen can’t see him. Being around men? Geez, he’s around Sammy all the time. And Bobby. And hell, even Benny, even though he hasn’t gone back to work since everything that happened. So really, what’s one more? “No. It’s okay. I’ll...I’ll give it a shot, alright?”

He hears Ellen breathe out a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful to hear, Dean. I’m proud of you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. Proud? For what? Whatever. “Yeah, well, you can tell him I’ll see him later.” He doesn’t wait for Ellen to answer, just ends the call abruptly. So Castiel wants his help...Really, what good could  _ Dean _ do? He knows dick fuck all about horses, so...Maybe Castiel just wants to hang out, and maybe become friends? Possibly?

All this thinking about Castiel is making Dean’s head spin, so he gives it a shake and takes a bite of his toast, trying in vain to put it out of his mind for the time being. Cars. The latest episode of Dr. Sexy, MD.. The last time he got high…

Shit! That reminds him, he has to call his hookup today to get some more, no thanks to Sam. He flips his phone open and scrolls down until his dealer’s name pops up.  _ Meg _ . He surreptitiously glances around to make sure Sam isn’t watching him from a window or something - it would be just like him to do that - before he types in a quick message and waits for the reply. It comes in just a minute later.

_ Done already? aren’t we an eager little beaver? Of course i’ll have it for you. Meet me behind the taphouse in two hours _

Dean grits his teeth. He hates the way that Meg talks to him, but unfortunately he just has to grin and bear it, since she’s the only hookup he has for the stuff. He’s about to type in that he’ll meet her there, when it dawns on him. Fuck! He’s supposed to be meeting Castiel then. He bites down on the tip of his tongue before coming to a decision.

_ Can’t do 2 hrs. Can u make it 1? _

The response is immediate.  _ Two hours, babe. Take it or leave it. You aren’t my only customer you know _

Fuck! He scowls at the phone in his hand, before angrily punching in  _ fine i’ll be there _ and tossing the phone onto the table beside the remnants of his breakfast. Hopefully Castiel is a patient guy.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean heads behind the bar just a few minutes before he is supposed to meet Meg and is relieved to see a familiar blonde leaning against the brick of the building, blue smoke drifting up from the cigarette in her mouth to curl lazily above her head. 

She raises an eyebrow at him as he comes closer. “You’re looking good there, Dean. You been working out?” she drawls, taking a long drag of her smoke before tossing it to the ground and pushing herself off the wall. 

Dean sucks in his lower lip before replying, “You’re looking exactly the same, Meg. When you gonna get a new wardrobe?” And it’s true. She’s been wearing that same damn red leather coat and cream shirt every time he’s seen her. God, hopefully she washes it at least.

She snorts. “How witty. Let’s get down to business, shall we? I got people to see, people to do…”

Gross. Dean reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Same price,” he says. It's not a question.

She throws her head back and laughs. The sound grates on Dean's nerves. “For you, baby, I think I can work that.” she saunters closer and Dean has to force himself not to take a step back. Meg creeps him the fuck out. She reaches into her inside coat pocket and withdraws two packages. “The green and the white, just like the doctor ordered.” she says with a shit eating grin. She waves the green baggie in his face. ‘I think you’ll like this strain this time, get you high and relax you all at the same time…Let you have a  _ real  _ good time, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Dean raises his eyebrow. “That right?”

She winks. “Totally. Try it this time, but next time it’ll cost ya more if you want it again. That OG Kush CBD strain is new, so it’s not cheap.”

Dean sneers back at her before handing her the cash and snatching the packages from her outstretched hand. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Anytime, baby. You got my number when you need some more.”

He doesn’t bother replying to her, just turns and heads back the way he came. Hopefully Castiel is still waiting for him.

~*~*~*

Turns out, Castiel  _ is _ still waiting for him. Eagerly, if his face is showing the truth, and Dean isn’t sure if that’s creepy or cool. He’s standing by the fence with Thunder, a blue tote slung over one shoulder. The big black horse is ripping at the long green blades of grass eagerly, her tail swishing back and forth against the flies. Dean can just see Rebel’s feet underneath her.

When Dean climbs out of the Impala, Castiel immediately waves him over. “Dean!” he greets with a smile. “Thank you for coming. I was very pleased when Ellen told me you were willing to help.”

Dean nods, looking around to check and see if there are other people around. Not that he doesn’t like Castiel. He  _ does _ , that’s why he agreed to come today. But he isn’t entirely sure that he wants to be alone with the guy. At a farm. In the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Where nobody can hear you. When he sees a couple other vehicles near the barn, he feels his shoulders relax slightly. Okay, that’s good. “Hey, Castiel,” he replies cautiously. 

Castiel motions at Dean to come over. “I was just letting Thunder graze a bit before I got started with her, but I think she’s had enough to eat. Come on!”

Dean shifts on his feet, but doesn’t make a move to follow. There’s something he needs to know first. “Why did you want me to help you?” he blurts out, wincing internally as he realizes how that sounds. “I just mean...I don’t really know anything about horses, or anything. I’m not a cowboy or anything,” he adds lamely, shrugging one shoulder. 

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head. Probably laughing at how stupid Dean sounds. Figures. “Well, to be perfectly honest,” Here it comes… “I noticed how Rebel seemed to really like you, and I am hoping you can keep her distracted while I work with Thunder.” 

Oh. Dean isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed with that answer. He manages to convince himself that it is indeed relief he feels and he heads to where Castiel is standing, stopping well back but close enough that it won’t look suspicious. “So…” He trails off uncertainly.

Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s discomfort. “Let’s go, then!” He pulls up Thunder’s head and turns, walking away from the barn instead of towards it, Rebel following at a prance. 

Dean’s brows furrow. “Where are we going?” he asks as he falls into step beside Thunder. 

Castiel raises the hand that isn’t carrying the lead. “Over to the outdoor arena, I prefer it to the indoor one. It’s just there is a lot more room to work with these two. Plus, this weather is amazing.”

Dean nods in agreement. It  _ is _ pretty darn nice outside. They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Dean is wracking is brain for something to say that won’t make him sound like the freak he is. He is saved from having to start a conversation though when Castiel’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Sorry?” he says. Totally missed that.

“I asked what you do for a living.” the other man repeats.

“Oh, uhh…sorry. I’m a mechanic.” Or at least he used to be. Before, well, everything. Hasn’t been to work since, so he’s not sure if he can still say he’s a mechanic. But Benny told him that his spot would still be there whenever he was ready to return to work, so…

“That’s cool. I know nothing about vehicles. Except how to change the oil and tires. My older brother Gabriel always said ‘Castiel, if you are going to own a car, you should know the basics’. He tried really hard to teach me some other stuff, but really I have no clue. I just pretended to know what he was talking about,” Castiel replies with a grin.

Castiel’s easy chatter loosens Dean’s tension further, and he finds himself smiling back at him. “Well, since you’re teaching me about horses, if you ever want to learn how to work on that nice truck of yours and keep her running in tip top shape, I’m your guy.” And  _ wow. _ Okay. Dean startles himself with his own offer, but finds himself rather hoping Castiel takes him up on it. It would be nice to get back under a hood, and Castiel’s super easy to talk to. Huh. Maybe he  _ does _ need a friend.

“I fear I would be a horrible student, Dean. But I appreciate that and will keep it in mind.”

The two arrive at a large fenced area, and Castiel opens the gate and heads in. Dean and Rebel follow. Dean looks around as Castiel swings the gate shut behind them. A thick layer of sand, not grass, covers the entire ground, and Dean can feel his boots sinking in as he stands. Geez, this must be work for horses to walk though. Or maybe not. They  _ are _ ridiculously strong animals. He turns to Castiel. “So Cas, what do you want me to do?”

Castiel’s head tilts and looks at Dean quizzically. “Cas?” he says.

Whoops. That just slipped out. “Umm. Sorry. I meant Castiel.”

“Cas.” He says the name like he’s trying it on for size. Which, maybe he is. After a moment Castiel nods his head, seemingly satisfied with the name. “I like it. My parents and Gabriel always called me Cassie, but I didn’t like that nickname very much. I told them it made me sound like a girl, but that did not stop them. Gabriel especially. He is a wonderful older brother and I love him dearly, but I think he gets too much enjoyment out of teasing me.”

The similarities between what Cas is telling him about his relationship with his brother and Dean and Sam’s own relationship strike a chord with Dean. He finds himself snickering. At Cas’s confused look, he shakes his head ruefully and explains. “That’s just like me and my little brother. His name is Sam, but I always called him Sammy. He hates it when I do that. Always has.”

“Ah, yes. Quite similar, then. Are you and Sam alike?”

Are they alike? Depends on who you ask. “Well, we are both stubborn sons of bitches,” Dean says with a snort. “But Sammy is way smarter than me. Had a full ride to Stanford.” he adds proudly.

“Had?”

And...There go the good feels. Dean clears his throat and looks away. “Yeah. He left.” Doesn’t expand on that, and hopes to hell Cas leaves it alone. Don’t really feel like explaining how little brother had to leave law school to come take care of Dean’s sorry ass. Yeah...like  _ that’d _ go over well.

Cas blinks at him for a moment, lips pursed, before he shrugs and reaches into the pack that’s resting over his shoulder. Dean watches him curiously. The hell is in there anyways? His question is answered when Cas pulls out a purple nylon...something-or-other. He holds it out expectantly towards Dean. 

“Uhh...what’s that?” Dean asks.

“It’s a halter. For Rebel.” When Dean just continues to stare at it but not take it, Cas drops his hand. “Ah. I Guess I should put it on her for you.” He drops Thunder’s lead and steps carefully over to where the foal is standing sleepily. “Hey, girl. Remember this?” he coos. His arms slowly come up to scratch at Rebel’s neck. The little horse startles briefly, before settling immediately back down. “That’s right, good girl.” 

Ever so slowly, Castiel reaches up with the halter thing and sticks it over her nose. She pulls back slightly, but Cas is ready and follows her, deftly slipping the contraption on her face and buckling it before either Rebel or even Dean is completely aware that he is finished.

Cas turns to Dean, smiling happily. “She’s not fully halter broke yet, but with how quick of a learner she is, it won’t be long now.” He holds the purple lead that matches the halter out to Dean. “She hasn’t quite gotten the hang of standing still at the post yet, which is why I asked Ellen to see if you could come and help. I need you to hold her while I work with Thunder. I haven’t been on my horse since just before Rebel was born, and I really want to go for a ride around the arena.”

Dean steps forward and eyes the lead warily. “She’s not gonna freak out on me when you take her mom away, is she?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, she shouldn’t. Thunder will still be in sight. If she  _ does _ cause you any problems, just drop the shank. We’re in a fully fenced area, she won’t get far.”

“Shank?”

“The lead rope, sorry. If you need me, just holler. I’ll just be over there.”

And then Dean is alone with Rebel. He stares at her, and she appears to eyeball him back. Dean tries not to feel like she is measuring him up. Somehow, he doubts he would pass.


	5. Chapter Five

### Chapter Five

The sun is beating down on Dean as he stands with Rebel. He is sorely tempted to pull off his overshirt, but he can’t bring himself to. Tells himself it’s not because there’s another guy close by, and doesn’t believe it.

He watches as Cas leads Thunder to the centre of the arena, and wonders what he’s gonna do with her. There’s no saddle or anything, and he’s confused how Castiel is going to ride her without one. He sees Cas pull something out of his duffel before dropping it on the ground, and slipping - is that a bridle? - over the horse’s head. Then his eyebrows shoot up as Cas places both hands on Thunder’s back and hauls himself up.

His jaw drops as Cas and Thunder start trotting around...How the fuck does he do that without falling off? There is _no_ way Dean would ever even attempt that...he _likes_ his neck not broken, thank you very much!

He watches in awe as Cas and Thunder move from a trot to a faster pace. It’s not a gallop, Dean knows that much, but couldn’t for the life of him say what it is. He didn’t even see Cas _do_ anything, but with the ease the other man is showing, he was well prepared.

Speaking of Cas...Even from where Dean is standing, he can see the pure unadulterated joy on his face. He swallows. What is that even _like_? Cas looks like he doesn’t have a care in the whole world, and nothing matters except him and his horse.

Dean is jolted from his musings by a firm bump on his hip. It speaks volumes that he didn’t even jump in startlement as he looks down and sees Rebel aiming up for another headbutt. “No!” He scolds. “Fuck off!” He puts a hand on her soft forehead - and Jesus, that _is_ soft - and pushes her back. He holds her back with one hand and turns back to continue watching Cas.

They do a series of stops and spins, before speeding off in the other direction. It’s incredible to watch, actually. And Dean feels a tiny pang of jealousy wondering what that sort of freedom would feel like. He’ll never know, of course. Not gonna try that, like, ever. But still...

Dean feels Rebel stop pushing against his hand and glances down. She, too, appears to be watching her mother and Cas. The corner of Dean’s mouth turns up slightly. “You gonna do that too one day, girl?”

They watch Cas and Thunder for a while, Dean stroking his hand down Rebel’s neck. After about twenty minutes, Castiel pulls Thunder to a stop beside them. He beams down at Dean. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Fine. She’s, you know...being her,” Dean replies with a shrug, then asks the question that has been on his mind since Cas started riding. “Why are you riding without a saddle? Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna, you know...fall off or something?”

Cas throws his head back and laughs heartily. “I might fall off,” he concedes when his laughter dies down. “I have before. But I enjoy riding without a saddle. I truly feel a connection to her that I find I just can’t get sitting on a thick piece of leather.”

Dean blinks. It’s a horse, for chrissakes. How much of a connection can a human possibly have with a horse? “Well, how do you get her to go faster and turn and stuff? I didn’t even see you move your hands.”

Cas grins. “For the most part I use my legs,” he says simply. “Like this, see?” And Thunder steps lightly to the side, but _no_. Dean doesn’t see. At all.

“I don’t get it, Cas. It looks like you’re just sitting there.”

“I apply the pressure with the outside leg of whichever way I want her to step. If I apply my left leg, she will move away from the pressure and step to the right.”

“Oh, yeah. I get it.” He actually kind of _did_ get it. Which is cool. “Aren’t you worried she’s gonna just take off on you though?”

Cas looks at Dean steadily for a moment before sliding off of Thunder and landing lightly on the ground. “Not really. Although I understand she is a powerful animal and can spook if something startles her, I also trust her. Just as she trusts me to take care of her and not guide her into danger.” He levels his gaze at Dean. “She is my friend. I take care of my friends. And if it is in my power to do so, I will not let anything happen to her.”

The weight of Cas’s words settle over Dean, but it’s not a heavy feeling. Dean _thinks_ Cas is talking about more than just the horse. Finds himself hoping so, even. Even if it is a little odd. Dean and Cas have only really ever hung out this one time. But still… Cas is still looking at Dean intently, all squinty eyed like he can’t see clearly. Dean coughs awkwardly into his hand, and Cas lightens up on the staring.

“Would you like to try, Dean?” He holds the reins out.

Dean shakes his head and steps back, bumping into Rebel as he does so. She throws her little head up and pulls back sharply. Dean tries to hold onto the lead, forgetting Cas’s earlier words of ‘drop it’, and cries out sharply as it is pulled through his hands. _Then_ he drops the fucking rope. He curses under his breath as he examines his rope burned hand. Dammit! That fucking hurt!

“Dean? Are you okay?” Concern fills Cas’s voice as he steps over to where Dean stands. “Let me have a look.”

Dean waves him off. “It’s fine, Cas. Just a little ropeburn. I’ve had worse.” He smiles sardonically. “Believe me.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him and nods. “I believe it.” And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Dean doesn’t have time to open his mouth and ask just that, because Cas continues on.  “I also believe I told you to drop the shank if Rebel pulled for just this reason. But there’s no reason you have to suffer when I can clear that up for you. Wait here, please.” He heads towards the gate, leaving Dean watching him bewilderedly. “And don’t worry about the horses. Like I said earlier, they can’t go anywhere!”

When Cas returns ten minutes later, Dean stares at what he is holding in confusion. “Mustard?” he asks incredulously. “The fuck you gonna do? Put me in a bun and eat me?”

“It’s a home remedy for burns, Dean,” Cas explains patiently. Like Dean is some child too stupid to know any better. At least, that’s what it sounds like. “My cousin Hannah did it for me when I put my hand on a stove pipe. My hand looked like yours, and then half an hour later…” He trails off, clearly catching on that Dean thinks he is insane. He throws up his hand not holding the mustard in exasperation. “Do you not trust me, Dean? Will you just let me see your hand so that I can slather it in mustard and make you feel better?”

Dean is quite frankly unsure whether to be amused by that last sentence or caught off guard by Cas’s apparent frustration with him. He kind of feels bad for causing said frustration, actually. For that reason, he slowly holds his hand out for the other man to take. “Yeah, Cas. Okay.” Worth a shot, anyways.

He watches as Cas pops the top of the mustard and squeezes a generous amount onto his reddened palm, slathering it with his own hand before nodding in satisfaction. “There. You should be good as new in about thirty minutes.” He pulls a paper towel out of his pocket to wipe his hand off with, then shoves the yellow stained paper back into his pocket, seemingly uncaring of the stain.

Dean stares nonplussed at his yellow, mustard-fied hand. “Huh.” This has to be one of the weirdest things that anybody has ever done for him, and that’s saying a lot. And where did Cas even _get_ mustard from in a barn, anyways? “And, uhh..Thanks,” he adds.

Cas grins widely at him. “It’s not a problem, Dean!” he says cheerily, all trace of previous frustration gone. “Why don’t you wait here and let the mustard dry while I go and grab the horses?” Without waiting for an answer, Cas lopes off to where Thunder is munching away at the grass that has grown tall enough to reach through the fence on the other side of the arena.

Dean watches him go and shakes his head. What an interesting character...

Cas comes back with Thunder and Rebel in tow, blue tote slung over his shoulder. He motions with his head for Dean to follow. Together, they walk back towards the barn. Dean is surprised when they don’t head into it, instead walking past the large doors.

“Where’re we goin’?” he asks.

Cas looks over at him. “Just gonna brush Thunder off and then put these two away,” he replies.

“Oh.”

They reach a smaller paddock near the back of the property, and Cas ties Thunder to the fence post, pulling out a couple of brushes from the bag. He hands one to Dean. “You remember how to brush with the coat hairs?” he asks.

Dean snorts. Not that hard of a thing to remember. “Yeah,” he says as he takes the brush that Castiel hands him.

“Please try not to get mustard on my horse.”

Oh. Right. Dean chuckles. He holds the brush in one hand, and his yellow hand out to the side. He starts at her neck, slowly working his way down over her back.

“Don’t forget her legs,” Cas says from her other side.

Dean nods, not that Cas can see him over the massive black horse in between them. He moves the brush down Thunder’s front leg, before moving to her back one, hoping to hell she doesn’t kick him in the process. That would really, really blow, and knowing _his_ luck, there is every possibility of that happening.

But he manages to get her brushed down, kick-free. Then he holds the gate open so Castiel can set the two horses loose. Dean leans his elbows on the top of the fence as they trot away. He watches as a daddy long legs crawls away from him along the top of the fence board. Man, those things give him the heebs...Crawl away, little creepy thing, crawl away.

“That mustard should be good to come off now,” Cas says, drawing Dean’s eyes away from the creepy crawly. “Here. I grabbed a wet nap from the lunch room.”

Lunch room, hey? Explains why there was mustard in a barn, anyways. “Thanks,” he says as he opens the packet with his teeth and pulls out the little square. After he wipes off the mustard, his eyebrows raise in surprise. Wow. That shit actually fuckin’ worked! His hand - though now an odd mixture of yellow and red - is completely pain free, and he flexes his fingers in awe. “Shit, Cas. That’s a lot better! Thanks!”

Castiel nods sagely, in a rather _I told you so_ kind of fashion. “Yes. I knew it would.” He chews on his lower lip and cocks his head. “So, Dean…I was wondering…” Cas trails off uncertainly, as he watches the two horses wander off into the paddock.

And here it comes. The ‘what the hell happened to you to get you so fucked up your therapist thinks you need horse therapy’ speech. Great. Just fucking great. “If you have something to ask, Cas, just spit it out.”

“Well, would you like to grab a beer or something now? With me, I mean?”

Okay, not what he was expecting, thank fuck. But going out for a beer with another dude is a little too much right now. Even though it’s probably not meant to be, the way Cas said it makes it sounds like _date_ and that...that’s too much. Or maybe he just means two guys going out for a beer? Or maybe he’s just overthinking this way too much…besides, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to a bar since _it_ happened, and those times he had Sam, Bobby and or Benny around. “Uhh…” he clears his throat. “I don’t know, Cas. Maybe next time?”

Cas’s shoulders drop and his eyes dim slightly, but he nods. “Okay, Dean. I was just wondering, that’s all. Another time is fine.”

Dean sucks in his lower lip and chews on it. He wants to reconsider. He _does_. But can’t bring himself to do so. He straightens with a slap on the fence. “Well, thanks for today, Cas, really. But I should probably go. Sammy is probably wearing a hole in the floor wondering where I am by now.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “He worries about you, I take it then?”

“Understatement of the year,” Dean replies with a snort. It’s ridiculous how much Sam mothers him. Which is totally ass backwards. _Dean_ is the older one. _He_ should be the one wondering what his little bro is up to. But life’s just crazy that way.

Cas shrugs his shoulders. “Ask him if he wants to join. I mean, if you want to, that is. I don’t even care where we go.”

Dean pauses. If Sam was to go, that would take some of the stress - okay, call it what it is, _fear_ \- away. And, Cas is a pretty cool guy. Him and Sam would probably get along famously. No surprise there. Sammy gets along with anyone and everyone. “Well, I can see what he’s up to, I guess.” Ignoring the grin on Cas’s face, Dean turns and walks away, pulling out his phone. He doesn’t wanting Cas to hear his side of the conversation, being the private person that he is.

It rings once, then Sam answers. “Dean, hey! What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Sammy. Everything’s fine.” Dean sucks in air through his teeth. “Hey, uhh...What are you up to?”

“What, like, now?” Sam replies curiously. “Just cleaning. You know, Dean, you could try putting your stuff away once in a while. It’s like I’m living with a tornado. Why? What’s up?”

Dean chuckles. “Just trying to keep you busy, Sammy.” He clears his throat, glancing behind him to see if Cas is watching him. He’s not, he’s sitting in the grass, leaning against the fence post with his eyes closed. “Just, Castiel asked me to go for a beer with him…”

Sam doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Ahh,” he says. “You want me to come with?”

And when Sam says it, it sounds so fucking pathetic. Jesus. “Actually, you know what? You don’t have to. I have things to do, anyways. I’ll see you at home.”

Dean’s just about to hang up when he hears Sam calling his name through the phone. “Dean! Wait!”

“What?” he asks sullenly.

“Of course I’ll come, dude! I wouldn’t mind meeting this Castiel guy anyways, really.”

Dean sighs. “Thanks, Sammy. It’s just…” He shrugs, even though Sam can’t see him. He kicks a rock with his toe, and watches it roll across the dirt. God, he’s such a useless loser...

“Hey, Dean. You don’t have to explain anything, okay? It’s all good. Where’d you want to go?”

Dean scratches his forehead. “I dunno. Not Jo’s place. Maybe Brick?” The Brick and Whiskey is a gastropub not far from where they live. Not Dean’s usual flavor of hangout, but ever since _the incident_ he has been avoiding his usual spots like the plague. Besides, he knows Sam likes it, and can just picture Cas enjoying it, too.

“Sure! Shoot me a text when you are on your way.” Sam hangs up with a click.

Dean puts his phone away and with a deep breath heads back to where Cas is still sitting.

Cas’s eyes open and he smiles softly at Dean. “Well?” he asks. “Is Sam willing to come out?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he is.”

“Fantastic!” Cas pushes himself up and snatches up the bag and leads, swinging it over his shoulder. “Let me just put this stuff away and get changed quick. You will wait for me?”

He heads towards his truck, and Dean doesn’t know what to do but follow in his wake. The guy is like a whirlwind of positive vibes, and Dean finds himself caught up in them. By the time Cas is pulling a clean change of clothes out from his front seat - and _damn_ , but Dean wishes he thought that far in advance - Dean is finding himself excited at the prospect of hanging out with Cas in a non-girlish manner. Beer drinking, that is. That’s definitely a manly thing to do.

“Be right back!” Cas disappears into the barn, and Dean is left standing in the dusty parking lot. He decides to take a chance and hopefully he’s left at least a shirt somewhere in his car that doesn’t make him smell like a cowboy. He digs around in the trunk of the Impala, and pulls out a faded black Led Zep concert t-shirt. Geez, how long has _that_ been in there? He takes a cautious sniff, and shrugs. Smells a bit like motor oil, but that’s better than horse any day of the week, in his opinion.

He hesitates, not wanting to change even his _shirt_ in an open parking lot. Stupid nerves. But he knows he needs to start getting over things, and if he can’t even take off his shirt...well, then, he really _is_ hopeless. Taking a deep breath, he glances around and makes sure nobody is there. He has just finished pulling the cleaner shirt on when Cas steps back out from inside the barn, crumpling his old clothes as he goes.

Dean blinks. “Cas?” he asks. “Why are you in a dress shirt?”

Castiel looks down at what he is wearing - black slacks, white dress shirt, and blue tie - and back at Dean, head cocked to the side. “Is this not appropriate attire for going out for a beer?” He pauses. “I suppose it _is_ a little formal, but it’s all I had besides my riding clothes...”

“Uhh…” Know what? Fuck it. “Yeah. That’s...that’s just fine, Cas.” He motions to Cas’s truck. “You gonna follow me?” At Cas’s nod, Dean can’t help the tiny sigh of relief that escapes him. “Cool. Sam said he’d meet us.”

“Where are we going?” Cas asks curiously, already heading towards his truck.

“Place called Brick and Whiskey,” Dean follows Cas’s lead and walks around to the driver’s side of the Impala.

“Oh!” Cas nods enthusiastically. “I love that place!” He pulls open the rear door of his truck and tosses the ball of clothes in, pulling out a pair of shiny black dress shoes and quickly putting them on.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?” Of course he has...Something about Castiel just screams gastropub. Yup. Him and Sam should get along just fine.

“Yes. I used to frequent The Brick when I lived down the street from it. They have delicious hamburgers! Gosh, I love hamburgers...” He trails off with a dreamy look in his eyes.

Yeah. The burgers _are_ pretty fucking fantastic there. And if Dean had any appetite at all right now, he would totally be down for one. “Okay, well, I’ll meet you there then.” Dean opens the door of his car with a familiar creak, and slides into the driver’s seat. The Impala starts with a throaty growl, and Dean gives his girl a pat on the dash. “Okay, Baby,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stepping into the Brick and Whiskey, Dean is pleased to note that it’s still fairly empty, having beat the dinner rush. Hopefully it won’t get too crowded. Crowds and him have not gotten along for the past year. He easily spots Sam’s large frame sitting at a table along the red brick of the wall. Perfect...Thank you, Sammy!

Dean catches Sam’s eye over the tops of the wooden tables. Please don’t say anything about what happened, Sammy...His little brother offers up a small nod of the head, and the nervousness that was catching Dean in a vice loosens slightly. He glances over at Castiel, who is looking around the place happily. “Sam’s just over there,” he motions with one hand over to where Sam is. Cas nods, and heads in the direction that Dean pointed out.

They reach the table, and Sam smiles warmly at Castiel, standing and offering his hand. “Hi. I’m Dean’s brother, Sam.”

When Sam stands, Dean can see Cas’s eyes widen in the dim lighting. Heh. Sam’s gigantor height gets people. Every. Damn. Time.

“Castiel,” he shakes Sam’s hand eagerly, offering up a smile of his own.

They sit, Dean making sure to sit with his back to the wall. Nobody is going to sneak up on him today. The waitress arrives to drop off menus and take their drink order - new girl, kinda hot - and then the three of them sit and make small talk.

“So, Castiel,” Sam says. “When did you start getting into horses?”

Cas shrugs his shoulders. “Since I was a little boy. My family raised cattle, and I had to work on the ranch herding them. They gave me my first pony when I was 5 so that I could learn how to ride early. I had to stop when I moved to the city with my brother Gabriel, but I was fortunate enough to be able to get back into it several years ago.”

Cattle, huh? This from the guy who changed into dress clothes to come to a pub. This is one interesting dude. Dean scrubs a hand over his chin and leans back, content to let his brother and friend make small talk and just listen in.

“That’s so cool!” Sam says eagerly. “I always wanted a pet, but my dad wouldn’t let me have one. Said he’d be the one to end up taking care of it.”

Dad? Not likely. More like _Dean_ would’ve been the one to look after it. Sam would’ve forgotten about it the second he put his nose in a book.

The waitress drops off their beers, sneaking a look at Dean and blushing furiously when he smiles at her. She hesitatingly smiles back. “What can I get for you boys?”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and french fries, please,” replies Castiel, handing her his menu.

Sam looks up from his own menu. “Ummm, beef dip for me. Salad with italian on the side, please.”

The waitress looks at Dean. “And for you?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.” Sam frowns, and Dean can see Cas tilt his head and eye him in concern. Jesus! Now he has to deal with _two_ mother hens? Maybe he’s just not hungry!

“You sure? We have some pretty awesome nachos, and the beef brisket pie is the best in the state!” The waitress tucks her blonde hair behind her ear as she lists off the menu items that Dean would normally be all over if he had any sort of appetite whatsoever. Which he doesn’t. Not right now, anyways.

“Dean, you barely ate breakfast-” Sam starts. He’s got that puppy dog look in his eyes as he leans forward. Dean hates that look.

Fuck, he should just order whatever to get Sam off his back. “Fine,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “Get me the nachos then, sweetheart.”

“Great! Good choice! I’ll bring everything out when it’s ready! Anything else?” They shake their heads and she saunters off to the bar to ring in the orders.

Sam and Cas look at Dean. “ _What_?” he snaps. “Can’t a guy just not be hungry once in a while?” He snatches up his beer and takes a big gulp. Besides, who needs food when you got beer? It’s got carbs in it. It’s like a delicious liquid dinner...

Cas offers a small shrug. “Of course.” He takes a sip of his own beer and his face lights up. “Oh my!” He says in delight. “This is _delicious_! Sam, have you tried this one? It’s a white IPA. Quite hoppy. I haven’t tried this one before.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, not yet. I got some sort of pale ale. Buck-something.”

“Blue buck! That’s quite a good one, too. I have had it before, not for a while, mind, but I always enjoyed it.”

Dean relaxes when the attention is off of him, thanks to Cas’s enthusiastic beer commenting. He’s pretty sure the other man did that on purpose, and wonders how he knew how uncomfortable Dean was getting. He’s also pretty sure Cas observes more than he lets on.

The food arrives a few minutes later, and Dean looks down unenthusiastically at his plate of nachos, his gut tightening at the thought of eating right now. Cas and Sam are already digging into their meals, and Dean picks up a nacho loaded with dripping cheddar cheese and tomatoes. He squints at it...is that cilantro? _Gross_. Dean grimaces and drops the chip back onto the plate.

“Dean.”

He looks up to where Sam is pointedly looking at the nachos. Fuck, _fine_ already. He goes for a nacho that is nowhere near any disgusting pieces of cilantro and takes a bite, chewing slowly. They aren’t half bad at all, really, but Dean just isn’t hungry.

“Oh, is that cilantro?” Cas pipes up. “I love cilantro! May I?” He reaches for a chip loaded with the shit at Dean’s nod.

“Knock yourself out, Cas.” He shakes his head in wonder at the other man, making a face as Cas pops it into his mouth and chews happily. “How can you eat cilantro? It fuckin’ tastes like...like _soap_.”

Sam is taking a sip of his beer, and snorts out a laugh at that. “Shit!” He holds up his napkin to his nose to catch the beer that shot out.

“Nice, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Classy, as always.” He picks up another cilantro-less chip and takes a small bite.

Sam and Castiel finish their meals relatively quickly, and Dean has managed to eat most of the tortilla chips from the outer portion of his nachos. Cas helps him by snatching up most of the ones with the green herb on them. Decent of him.

The waitress arrives back at their table with a fresh round of drinks, and picks up the dirty plates. Just as she’s balancing them on her tray...

It’s like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. You know, if the train was filled with dirty dishes and the remnants of a meal. Dean can only watch in shocked amusement as both Sam’s and Cas’s dirty dishes slide off the edge of the tray and onto Sam’s lap.

“Oh! Oh my god! I am so sorry!” The waitress cries out. She puts the tray on the table and begins picking food off of Sam’s lap, face colored red in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I did that…I am so, so, sorry...It just slipped...”

Sam is looking down at his lap, jaw open in surprise. Cas stands and moves to Sam’s other side to help as well, mouth twitching up into a smile. Sam shakes his head and bats the helping hands away from his lap. “I’m okay, it’s okay.” He tries to reassure the waitress, who looks like she is going to keel over in mortification. She tells him she will go grab a wet towel and rushes off.

Dean, for his part, bursts out into peals of laughter. “It’s a good look for you, Sammy,” he says when he is able to catch his breath. “The foodie look. Although I always thought foodies were supposed to eat the food, not _wear_ it!”

His brother glares at him. “Oh, shut up, Dean,” he growls.

Dean throws his hands wide. “Lighten up, Sam. You’ll look back on this later and laugh about it, trust me!”

Their waitress comes back hurriedly and hands Sam a damp towel. “I’ve gotten my manager to promo your food,” she says. “I can’t believe that happened.”

Sam takes the towel from her with a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, but thank you. I appreciate it.” He cleans himself up as much as he is able with the towel and then sighs loudly. “I’m going to have to go clean this up with the sink. I’ll be back.” He excuses himself to go to the washroom.

Dean watches his brother make his way across the room, still chuckling under his breath.

“I must say I also found that quite amusing,” Castiel says as he takes his seat again. “Your brother did not look very amused, however.”

Dean snorts. “He’ll get over it. Like I told him, soon he will be laughing about it.” He takes another sip of his beer and leans back, observing the room. The door to the bar opens and a group of about five or six men enter.

A flash of Dean’s nightmare catches his eye. No...It can’t be...Dean’s heart plummets into his feet as he stares at the group of men who just walked in. He thought he saw…Dean makes a small sound in the back of his throat, drawing Cas’s attention.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

He can’t answer. Heck, he can’t even fucking _breathe_ right now. His vision is tunneling as he tries to suck in air. His heart is pounding so hard he’s certain his ribs are going to break.

“Dean!”

The men come closer, and Dean can see as they do that it’s not. It’s fucking _not_ , but it’s too late. He feels his chest constrict in the aftermath of his fear, and he needs to get out. He needs to get out right the fuck _now_! He pushes himself away from the table and staggers in the opposite direction of those men. Cas is still calling his name, but Dean is too focused on getting away that he doesn’t even have it in him to answer.

A flashing neon exit sign guides his way. Dean shoves the back door open with a gasp. Jesus. _Fuck_ . Okay, so that _wasn’t_ him, but it doesn’t matter. It _looked_ like him. Dean slides down the side of the building, uncaring of the brick scratching at his back or the dirty ground he is now sitting on. His hands are shaking so much as he pulls out the bag that Meg gave him that he drops it on the ground.

“Shit,” he curses, snatching it back up. He dumps the contents into his hand, staring at the two bags. One filled with pills, one containing his pot. He’s about to reach for an Oxy, but thinks twice about it. True, they calm him the fuck down, but they also make him slow and sleepy, and that is the absolute last thing he wants to be in public. Too easy for fucking sick fucks to sneak up on him. He hastily shoves the pills back into his pocket.

He quickly rolls himself a joint, cursing under his breath when his shaking hands spill some of the weed. He lights up, coughing slightly as the smoke enters his lungs. After a few minutes, he can feel his wildly pumping heart start to settle down, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, taking another deep drag. Man, that’s some good shit Meg got in this time…Not like the last stuff. Man, that was crap with a capital ‘C’... He can feel his earlier tension slipping away with every puff on the joint.

“Dean?”

Dean startles as the door next to him swings open, dropping his half smoked joint onto his lap. “Shit!” he swears as the hot cherry burns his legs. He snatches it up and looks up into Cas’s concerned face. “Hey, Cas.” He grins, holding up the joint. “Want some?”

Castiel’s eyebrows are furrowed as he stares at the offering. “No thank you. I feel that grass is better suited to mowing than smoking.”

And for some reason that is the most hilarious thing Dean has ever heard, and he bursts out laughing. “Oh fuck, Cas, that’s fucking _awesome_. Mowing…” He chuckles some more as he swipes at his eyes. “Fuck. I gotta remember that one.”

Cas steps out further into the rear lot and shuts the door firmly behind him. He tilts his head in Dean’s direction and squints down at him. “May I sit?” he asks.

Dean gestures grandly with the hand holding the joint. “You may,” he says. “But I warn you, you might get those pants pretty dirty. Everything down here is _disgusting_.”

“Then why are you down there?”

Dean closes his eyes again. “Because _I_ am disgusting, too.” Like, isn’t that the most obvious thing _ever_? Cas doesn’t say anything for a moment - probably nodding his head in agreement, though. Then Dean hears him settle down next to him. Dean cracks an eye open and shakes his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Cas snorts. “The only disgusting thing down here is that half eaten sandwich in the corner over there. I do not find you disgusting at all. What would make you think that?”

Dean half heartedly shrugs one shoulder but doesn’t answer. He takes another drag and blows it out slowly. “Where’s Sam?”

“Still in the washroom cleaning up, I imagine.”

Oh, _right_ . The food-in-Sam’s-lap incident...Jesus this pot is some _good shit_ . Dean almost forgot about that. He laughs. “That was fucking _funny_ , Cas.”

Cas hums in agreement. “Why did you run out of the bar, Dean?”

Annnnnnd….good vibe gone. “Just needed some air.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I am just concerned is all. You’re my friend.”

Dean stubs the remainder of the joint out on the cement beside him and sighs. “If you’re my friend, Cas, then _please_ don’t make me talk about this right now. I just...I just _can’t_. Not with you.”

“Oh.”

“Cas, I don’t mean it like that, okay? It’s...complicated.” Dean finishes lamely and rests his head on his knees, not wanting to look at Cas and see the disgust that he knows will be plainly written across his face. He’s saved from having to say anything further by the door opening once more and Sam’s shaggy head poking out.

“There you guys are! I came out of the washroom and you two were both gone.” He looks closer at Dean and frowns. “Dean, is everything okay?”

Dean waves his brother off. “Yeah. I’m okay, Sammy. False alarm.” He smiles sardonically. “Just me being...me.”

Sam huffs out a breath. “False alarm? And don’t talk about yourself that way, Dean. What did you mean b-” He stops and sniffs the air. “Were you out here smoking pot?”

“If I said no, would ya believe me?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Yes, I was. Why do you even bother to ask when you already know the answer?” Dean stares at his brother defiantly, daring him to comment further. He is surprised, however, when Cas pipes up.

“You know, Sam,” he says from his position beside Dean. “Marijuana has been shown to help people suffering from PTSD. Especially if it contains high levels of CBD. I may not be a fan of it, but there really is no harm in your brother partaking once in a while. Especially if it helps calm him down.”

Dean stares at Castiel. “Uhh...What he said.”

Sam looks taken aback for a moment, then a small grin appears at the corners of his mouth. “Huh,” he says. Then he looks at Dean, a strange gleam in his eye. “I think he’s a keeper, Dean.”

Dean feels his face heat up. “What? We’re just friends, Sammy! Fucking hell!”

Sam holds up his hands, that stupid grin still on his face. “That’s all I meant. _Really_.”

Liar.

Cas looks between the two of them with wide eyes, not saying anything. If Dean wasn’t so mortified by Sam, he would laugh at the look on Cas’s face. And then, because he is high as _balls_ right now, he laughs anyways.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter!

###   Chapter Six

Monday morning comes quickly, and Dean wakes from a surprisingly dreamless sleep. He lays in bed for a few minutes, content to just relax and feel the effects of a full night sleep. He turns his head and looks at the clock resting on his bedside table beside a bottle of Jim Beam. Eight am? Jesus. He can’t remember the last time he slept until eight am.

He sits up with a yawn, back cracking as he  stretches, mentally preparing himself for the day. Oh, right! Another session with Ellen and Cas. He finds himself looking forward to it. Not because of the horses -  _ hello _ , not a girl! - but because he actually enjoys spending time with Castiel. 

And he feels kind of strange about Cas. In a good but stupidly scary way. Because what Sam implied the other day at The Brick and Whiskey? Not far from the truth. And after everything, Dean isn’t entirely sure how he feels about that. He’s pretty certain Cas is into him...the guy stares at Dean like there’s no tomorrow. But he’s not pushing anything, and Dean is grateful to him for that, at least.

Dean can hear his brother moving around in the kitchen, and decides he better get up and get started on breakfast. If he leaves Sammy to his own devices, the whole house might just go up in flames. That kid can burn water without trying…

Throwing back the covers, Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed. He lets loose with another big yawn as he pushes himself up, glancing around his room for a shirt. Finding one, he pulls it on and shuffles out into the hallway.

He gets into the kitchen and stares out the window. Holy shit. “Wow,” is all he manages to say. The sky is black, swirling clouds in the distance, and even from inside the house Dean can practically feel the electricity in the air. 

“Yeah, I know, hey?” Sam says, coming up beside him to look out the window. “Should hit us pretty soon. They’re telling everyone to stay indoors if you can. Crazy wind gusts and golf ball sized hail is expected.”

At that moment, he hears his cell phone go off in his room, and rushes to answer. He reaches it just before it clicks over to voicemail. “‘Ello,” he says.

“Hello, Dean. It’s Ellen.”

“What’s up?”

“Have you had a chance to see the weather today?”

“Yeah. Pretty crazy.”

“I am cancelling the equine therapy for today. This is going to be a bad storm, Dean. Stay inside and hunker down. I will check my schedule and get you in my office later this week instead, okay?”

Dean feels a sharp burst of disappointment, but pushes it down where it belongs. “Sure, whatever,” he throws out nonchalantly. Because it’s not like he cares, or anything. 

“I’ll get back to you soon, Dean. Call me if you need anything before then, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Ellen. I’ll talk to you soon.” He closes his phone with a snap and stares at it. No session today, huh? Well, that is a-okay. He isn’t disappointed. Nope, nosiree.

But no session means no Cas, and Dean isn’t sure what to do with how that makes him feel. He stares at the phone he is still holding in his hand as though it is the cause of all of this, and throws it against the wall in disgust.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen. “Everything okay?” He obviously heard the phone’s collision with the wall. 

“Yeah.” Dean heads back out into the hall with one final glare at the phone. “Just dropped something, that’s all.” He is saved from having to say anything else by a crash of thunder so freaking loud Dean swears the house shook. “Shit!” He curses, rushing into the kitchen, sliding to a stop beside his brother.

Sam is staring in awe out the window as the lightning streaks across the sky in jagged streaks, lighting up the sky that is black with clouds. “This is insane,” he murmurs to Dean.

The large oak tree in their front yard is waving madly in the wind, and Dean and Sam both watch as a decently sized branch breaks off and falls to the ground. 

Dean’s eyes widen as he realizes something. “Shit, Sam! The Impala!” He whirls around, snatching the keys off the kitchen counter and rushes to the back door, pointedly ignoring Sam as he calls after him. He had parked Baby in the alley yesterday, not realizing there was a massive storm brewing with the potential to hurt her! 

He flings the back door open, and scrambles out into the yard, ignoring the hail that is just starting. Gotta get Baby in the garage before anything happens. Fucking hail…

He reaches the Impala, and has to fight the wind to get her driver’s side door open. Jesus Christ. He wouldn’t be surprised if a tornado landed right on him. Actually, knowing his luck, one will. Great. He manages to climb into his car and get her into the garage, just as a large branch - not their tree, but their neighbour’s - lands where she had been sitting not a minute earlier. He breathes a sigh of relief. “Don’t worry, Baby,” he croons, patting her dash. “I got ya.” She doesn’t reply, not that he’s expecting one - he isn’t crazy - but he likes to think she would appreciate him if she could.

When Dean makes it back into the house, after getting battered with hail and wind and rain, Sam is shaking his head at him. “Dude,” he says. “Your attachment to that car is kinda freaky.”

Dean flips his brother the bird even as he shakes the water from his hair. “Go fuck a duck, Sammy,” he says. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t have anything nearly as awesomely sexy as my baby.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Sure.  _ That’s _ what it is.” He’s about to say something else when there is a bright flash immediately followed by the loudest crash of thunder Dean is pretty sure has ever happened in the history of thunderstorms rattles the entire house, and suddenly the two brothers are left standing in the dark.

Dean looks towards where Sammy is standing. “Know where the flashlights are, Sammy?”

~*~*~*~*~

Dean is sitting in his room, having gone there after Sam fell asleep on the couch an hour ago. Not that he blames him. Not much else to do when the power goes out and there’s nothing but sheer boredom. Everything outside looks dark and grey, and Dean figures it’s actually a pretty good reflection of his soul.

He sips at the bottle of whiskey held loosely in his hands, listening to the storm continue to rage outside his window. Stupid storm. Ruining his fucking day. Through the occasional flash of light, Dean can see the level of the whiskey in the bottle steadily decreasing as his level of intoxication is rising. Good.

He takes another sip and sighs, his mood becoming just as dark as the storm clouds that are swirling overhead. God, he was certain that this day was gonna be a good one. He scowls and chugs the remainder of the whiskey, shuddering as it burns his throat.

Five minutes later, and Dean is completely and utterly wasted. Fucking  _ trashed _ . Dean lifts his head and squints at the shadows he can see crawling along the walls. They look like people. Shadow people creeping steadily towards him.

_ “You’re gonna feel so good, Dean-o. Gonna make you feel so good.” _

He hears the voice of his nightmares whisper into his ears. No...Not this. Not now. The bottle slips out of suddenly numb fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut and slaps his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound of the voice.

_ “Hey now, none of that. I want you to see what we are doing, my beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful, Dean-o.” _

_ Dean opens his eyes and he’s back in the basement. Oh. Oh god… _

_ “There you are. Good boy.” Michael’s fingers run gently down Dean’s spine. He’s petting him. Like a fucking dog. “Good boy,” he repeats. _

_ Dean tries unsuccessfully to buck off the hand that is trailing down his back. “Stop it,” he hisses. _

_ Michael chuckles. “Just want to get to the main event, then? I understand. Me too.” He hauls Dean up onto his knees, and Dean tries to scrabble away. The freak grabs him by the hips and holds him in place, much too easily. _

_ When Michael enters him, Dean loses it. He screams and throws his head back. Never in his whole damn life has he felt pain like this. The couple of guys he’s been with had been gentle, prepared him...This is nothing like that. He can feel himself tearing, and chokes out another scream. The other man bottoms out and waits a moment before he starts to move. Dean wants to vomit at the feel of him inside.  _

_ Suddenly he hears a chuckle across the room. What - ? He manages to turn his head and look and his heart damn near stops. Sam, his dad, and Cas are all sitting there, perched on boxes, watching Dean’s defilement like they’re enjoying it. _

_ No. This isn’t how it happens… _

_ “God, Dean, you’re pathetic. Can’t even fight off one man? I thought I taught you better than that.” His dad shakes his head. “Obviously not. Sam could’ve done it. But then again, he’s the better son.” _

_ Michael groans above him, running his hands over the gouges in Dean’s side. The burn flares up and Dean whimpers in the back of his throat. _

_ Dean shakes his head in denial. He can’t speak, his throat too raw from his screams. Nonononono… Michael changes the angle of his thrusts and Dean grunts as sparks of pleasure run through his body.  _

_ “Wow. You’re actually liking this? What the hell, Dean? Who knew my own brother was so disgusting.” Sam makes a face.  _

_ Dean wants to throw up. He doesn’t like this...he doesn’t. But he can feel himself getting hard...Oh god, maybe Sam’s right… _

_ “Come on, Dean-o. You feel so good. You like this. You want this.” The voice whispers in his ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”  _

_ Cas thankfully says nothing, but the look of disgust when Dean looks at him says enough.  _

_ Dean squeezes his eyes closed once more, fighting the pleasure that is building within him. No. Please no… _

_ “That’s it. Almost there…” He feels Michael’s hand stroke his cock in time with the thrusts, and sobs as the stimulation is too much. He cries out as his orgasm crashes through him, spilling himself all over the hand on his cock. “That’s my boy…” The hand moves up and grips the back of his neck, smearing the mess into the hair at the base of his skull. _

_ Michael jerks and shudders above him, and Dean can feel him getting closer. Please...please just finish...The hand on his neck closes tighter, and Dean is certain the bruises will remain for days, and suddenly Michael slams his hips forward one last time and releases himself into Dean with a yell, sinking down to cover Dean’s back and placing gentle kisses down his spine. _

_ “Good boy…” _

“Dean!”

_ No. Not again, Sammy. You’re not supposed to be here...No... _

“Dean, hey! Come on, man. Don’t do this!”

_ Don’t do what? Dean coughs...Why can’t he breathe? _

“No, Dammit! Dean!”

_ Sorry, Sammy…The darkness comes to take Dean away, and he doesn’t fight it. _

~*~*~*~*~

Consciousness creeps back to Dean in steps. The first thing he is aware of is sound. Beeps and other sounds of various machines filter in. Someone’s voice repeating his name. 

Smell is next. Antiseptic. Disinfectant. Hospital, then. Not wanting to face the reason why he’s in the hospital, Dean lets the swirling darkness take him under again.

The next time he surfaces, vague memories flit through his brain of an ambulance ride. Doctors. And...Sam crying? What the fuck? Why was Sam crying?

He groans and tries to pry his eyes open, but they are practically glued shut. God, how long was he out? And hopefully Sammy got the name of the truck that hit him. Gonna sue the shit out of them...

“Dean?”

He turns his head and is surprised to see Castiel sitting there, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and those blue eyes fixed on Dean.

“What’re you doing here?” Dean manages to rasp out. His voice sounds like he swallowed glass, and feels like it too. Just fucking great.

“Sam called me,” Cas replies gravely. “You’ve been in a coma for two days.”

What? Back the train up here… “Coma?” That explains why he feels like roadkill, anyways.

Cas nods solemnly. “He said...he said you tried to kill yourself.” Then, “Why would you do that?”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam’s so fucking melodramatic sometimes. “Didn’t try to off myself, Cas.”

“No?” Sam interrupts in a cold voice. “Then what the hell would  _ you _ call that little stunt you pulled, Dean?” 

Dean looks over to the door and sees his younger brother leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. If it wasn’t for the worry and fear Dean can see written very plainly all over Sammy’s face, he’d think he’s about to kick Dean’s ass. Actually, Sam might just do that anyways, as a matter of principle. 

“Look, Sam, I fucked up, and  _ no _ , I did  _ not  _ try to kill myself. But can we talk about this later?” Dean says with a pointed look in Cas’s direction. He swallows heavily. His throat is killing him. “Please?” Just woke up, for chrissakes. Give a guy a moment.

Sam stares at Dean. Dean stares back. Finally, Sam shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. He turns to Cas. “Castiel, can you give us a moment, please?”

Great. This is so  _ not _ the moment Dean had in mind.

“Of course.” Cas stands up and moves towards the door, offering Dean a small smile as he goes. “I’ll be back shortly, Dean.” And then he is gone, leaving the two brothers alone.

“Sam...” Dean says with a sigh. “If we’re going to talk, can I at least get some water? My throat is killing me.”

“That’s because of the tube they had to shove down it to pump your freaking stomach!” Sam snarls, but he comes closer and pours Dean a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand anyways and hands it to him. Dean attempts to push himself up, but his muscles are shaky and after a moment Sam takes pity on him. “Let me help you,” he says, putting the cup down and helping Dean sit up. “Here.”

Dean takes a sip of the cool water, reveling in the liquid sliding down his throat and soothing the burn. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He stares into the cup, watching the light catch on the ice. He doesn’t want to look at his brother, because no he didn’t try to kill himself, but he  _ was  _ incredibly stupid and doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Sam’s face. Not Sam. Seen enough of it on his father.

Sam sits down heavily in the chair Castiel had just recently vacated. “Why, Dean?” He chokes out, all trace of the earlier anger gone. “Why would you do something like that?”

Now that Dean looks closer at his brother, he can see the stress and worry in Sam’s red eyes. “It was a mistake, Sammy.” That’s as close to an apology as Dean can make right now. Take it or leave it, Sam. Preferably take it and go.

Sam stares at him, then switches his line of questioning. “When did you start taking Oxycontin? I knew about the weed, but  _ Oxy _ , Dean? That is some pretty potent stuff. Jesus, Dean. Jesus.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. 

“It’s not like I used it all the damn time, Sam. It just helps, with the...you know.”

“Dean, I know how rough things have been for you-”

And at those words, Dean snaps. The tension he feels bubbling up since waking up boils over. “You don’t know, Sam! Fuck! You  _ don’t. Fucking. Know _ . And I hope to God you never do, okay? But I can’t escape it! Not unless I have fucking help! And that’s what the drugs do, okay? They fucking  _ help _ !” God, he’s going to start freaking hyperventilating if he doesn’t calm himself down. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, softly humming the start of Metallica’s  _ Nothing Else Matters  _ under his breath. Sam is quiet where he sits, familiar with Dean’s methods of keeping himself calm. 

Finally, Dean feels back under control, and opens his eyes. Sam is leaning forward, mirroring the position Cas took earlier, and staring at Dean with big eyes. Goddamn puppy. “Dean, I see where you are coming from. I  _ do _ . I looked up the effects of Oxy and pot on people suffering from PTSD.”

“Oh, so now you’re some sort of expert?” Dean snaps sarcastically, and instantly regrets it when he starts coughing. God, this sucks out loud. His emotions are all over the charts right now, and the hospital environment isn’t helping. Reminding him too much of waking up after... _ that _ . Fuck.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice filters through. “Have some more water, Dean.”

Dean gratefully take the cup being offered to him. “Thanks, Sammy.” He hands it back to his brother when he is finished. He eyes his brother, and figures he owes him some sort of explanation at least. “Look. I fucked up big time, Sam. Despite what you might think, I  _ rarely _ use the pills. I just...I just had a pretty bad flashback, and took some to calm me down. Then I had some whiskey, and forgot I had already taken some Oxy.”

“So you took some more,” Sam finishes with a sigh.

“Yeah…”

“I flushed the rest of your Oxy. I thought you should know.” Of course he did. Just like that time he threw out Dean’s pot. And dumped his alcohol stash. “I just can’t take the chance of this happening again, Dean. I  _ can’t _ . But I left your weed for you. I can accept that if it helps. But please, Dean.  _ Please _ . No more pills, okay? We can get you an antidepressant if you need, but only if it’s prescribed by Ellen or some other medical doctor.”

“Don’t need no fucking antidepressants, Sammy,” Dean sighs. “But yeah, okay. No more Oxy.” Thank fuck he hasn’t taken it enough to be addicted. That would blow. Time to change the subject. “Why did you call Cas?” Dean asks, curiosity coloring his voice.

Sam scratches his forehead. “To be honest, I was going to call Ellen. Almost did, too. But Cas and you seem to have a connection, or something.” He shrugs. “Besides, the hospital called Ellen. I guess it’s policy when someone comes in after attempting suicide.” He holds up his hand when Dean opens his mouth to protest. “Even if that’s not what you meant to do. I told them Ellen is your therapist, figured you’d respond better to someone you knew rather than one of the hospital staff. She’ll be here soon.”

Great. Dean clenches his teeth. “Well, she’ll be super fun today, then,” he says sarcastically.

Sam chuckles. “Well, Dean. You made your bed, now you have to lay in it. Won’t get any sympathy from me.” He stands with a grimace. “But uhh...Cas has been pretty worried about you. If it’s okay with you, I’ll go find him and send him back in.”

“Worried?” 

Sam gives him a  _ well, duh _ look. Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, okay I guess. Send him in.” 

His brother offers a small wave when he leaves, hesitating for a moment with a lingering look, before disappearing to go find Cas. 

Well, this is going to be awkward. Hip hip freaking  _ hooray _ .

~*~*~*~

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean is pulled from the light doze he had fallen into in the past...however long it’s been since Sam left. Shit. His body is exhausted.

“Hey,” he replies with a yawn big enough to crack his jaw.

Castiel comes into the room and sits. He’s chewing his lip nervously. The silence that stretches between them is slightly uncomfortable, as they both try to figure out what to say. 

“I am very pleased that you are okay!” And...Cas wins.

“Thanks,” Dean says. 

“Dean, when Sam called me, I...I was so worried. I believe that you did not attempt to kill yourself, but please, will you tell me what happened? Sam did not tell me much.”

Dean’s heart plummets. Much still means Sam said something. “What did Sam tell you?”

“Only that you suffered a severe attack and overdosed on something.”

“Well, that’s pretty much what happened.”

Castiel is silent for a moment. “Dean,” he says. “I care about you. A lot. I know we have only known each other a short while, but I feel what I feel and I will not apologize for that. And I am not telling you this to scare you. I know something has happened in your past, and while I hope that one day you trust me enough to tell me, I have already told you that I won’t push you. I am telling you this because I need you to know. I need you to know that I care.”

Dean stares at Cas, stunned. Maybe it’s because he’s a broken shell, and his walls have crumbled, maybe it’s because the hospital slipped him some sort of weird drug that takes away his inhibitions, maybe it’s because he just desperately needs  _ someone _ in his life who cares - and not just Sam - but he opens his mouth and says, “I care about you, too, Cas.”

Cas sits up straighter, a pleased gleam in his blue eyes. His hand inches forward towards the bed, and Dean watches it with only a brief flash of apprehension. He doesn’t move away, though, and when Cas’s hand covers his own and gives it a brief squeeze, he lets him.

“Thank you, Dean.” 

Cas sounds so damn grateful, and Dean wonders what the fuck for. It’s not like he’s a goddamn prize or nothing. Dean looks down to where their hands lay intertwined, and wonders why he’s not pulling away. He should be. By all fucking rights, he damn well should be. But there is something about Cas that calms him. Makes him feel safe. Wanted. And really? He’s not sure if that scares him, but right now, this right here? He’s pretty damn okay with it.

Cas is moving his thumb on Dean’s hand in gentle circles, and Dean lets the movement calm him. He raises the hand that Cas isn’t holding and scratches his chin. “Cas,” he says. “I...There was something that happened in my past, you know that. And I think it’s important you know about it. But I don’t want to talk about it here, okay? Not in the hospital. When I get out, you and I need to have a talk, and then you can decide for yourself if I am still someone you should care about.”

Castiel tilts his head and regards Dean warmly. “No matter what happened to you, Dean, it won’t change the fact that I care.”

Dean shakes his head and grins ruefully. “You say that now, Cas. But okay. We’ll talk about it, I promise.” Of course he worries that Castiel will find him just as disgusting as he finds himself, once he knows the truth. But he will just have to cross that bridge when he gets to it, and hope to fuck he can swim. 

They sit together, neither saying anything but both content to sit in silence, when they are interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Hey, guys.” It’s Ellen. Dean sees her take in their hands and pulls away self consciously. When Cas looks disappointed, Dean tosses him a look that says  _ it’s okay it’s not you _ , and Cas looks a bit happier at that.

Ellen, being the tactful lady that she is, doesn’t say anything, just steps in and shuts the door behind her. “Castiel, how are you?” she greets warmly as she steps towards the bed.

“I am fine, thank you.” Cas replies with a smile and a nod.

She looks at Dean. He doesn’t see any judgement in her, for which he is relieved. “I didn’t try to kill myself, Ellen,” he blurts out. For some reason it’s important that she knows this.

She smiles at him. “Dean, we will talk about that in a minute. Castiel, if you will?”

And for the second time today, Castiel has to leave Dean. Dean wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. Throughout everything, and even though Cas doesn’t know what has happened, he has been the  _ only _ one who hasn’t judged Dean on anything he has done. Even this latest stint. But for some goddamn reason he’s always the one being asked to leave. 

But when Cas stands and once more moves towards the door, Dean lets him go without a sound. Because he’s starting to believe that, despite everything, Cas will always come back.

When Cas is gone, Ellen moves over to the foot of Dean’s bed and picks up his chart, looking through it.

“You know how to read that shit?” he asks hoarsely.

Her eyes flick up to him and back down to the chart in her hands. “A bit. It’s important to know what the medical doctors have to say about my patient’s condition. Any meds they might have you on…” She trails off and sighs, putting the chart down and looking at Dean with a sad look in her eyes. “Oh, Dean,” she says. “I am so sorry.”

Wait..what? “Sorry for what?”

“I should have seen this. Seen this coming, I mean,” she says with a sigh. She sits down and shakes her head. “Dean, it’s not uncommon for people with PTSD to turn to drugs and alcohol. And I knew, I  _ knew _ you were smoking pot. And drinking. And to be honest, I suspected more. But I did not follow through on my suspicions. I should have tried harder to help you deal without these things. But I genuinely thought you were doing better with the equine therapy.”

Ellen’s confession makes Dean feel as though he is two feet tall, and he ducks his head. “Ellen, I...It’s not…” He trails off, at a loss for words. God, can’t he just get a break and have people leave him alone for once? “I just had a bit of a flashback and the Oxy usually calms me down after. I guess I just must’ve had too much.” 

“So what brought this flashback on?” Ellen asks.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and shifts uncomfortably. He looks away towards the window. 

“Dean?” she prods. “We have to talk about this. It’s a very serious situation. You are in the hospital, and the doctors  _ can _ keep you in here because it looks like a suicide attempt. Unless you talk to me and we can figure out why this happened, and prevent it from happening again, my hands are tied and I will have to allow the doctors to admit you into the psych ward.”

At that, Dean looks over at Ellen. They can’t do that! Can they…? The absolute last thing Dean wants is to stay in the hospital. In fact, he wants out,  _ now _ . So he sighs. Might as well get this over with. “It started out a good day, ya know? I had a fantastic sleep. And I was actually looking forward to your stupid horse thing,” he mutters, choosing to ignore the surprised smile on Ellen’s face. “But then that storm came, and it got cancelled, which I get. I mean, that was some crazy shit.” He pauses, trying to think about what to say. 

Ellen hands him his water cup, and he takes it gratefully and sips slowly, using the time to get his words in order. “The power went out and Sam fell asleep, and I was pretty bored. No television or nothing. So I started drinking. Then the lightning was playing tricks on me, and I started seeing... _ him _ ,” Dean spits out the last word. He’s not going to say that he saw everyone, including Cas and Ellen, sitting there watching him be humiliated. Nope.  _ That _ little tidbit he will take to the bloody grave with him.

“Go on,” Ellen says quietly.

Dean takes a deep breath. “I took a couple Oxy to calm myself down when I came out of it, they usually help, but I guess with the booze…” He trails off with a shrug. “Woke up here.”

Ellen sucks in her upper lip and watches Dean closely. He shifts under her scrutiny. Finally he can’t take it anymore. “What?” he asks in exasperation. 

“It’s obvious that the equine therapy is helping you. Although, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure whether it’s the horses or Castiel that is getting through to you.”

Dean feels his ears heat up. What the fuck can he say to  _ that _ ?

“And I must say, I am glad that you and Castiel are getting on so well,” she says, catching him off guard. Yup. She definitely caught that hand holding thing. “I knew he was a good fit for you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” he asks in an embarrassingly high voice. At her look, he swallows and clears his throat. “Sorry. I just meant, what do you mean by a good fit?”

“Castiel has been a volunteer for the program for only a little while. But he got into it because of me. I have known him for several years, his family and mine have always been close. Remember how I told you my Aunt and Uncle raised me?” she asks. At Dean’s nod, she continues. “Castiel was a volunteer at their ranch. That boy just loved the horses, and would spend hours with them. Brushing them, exercising them, anything they needed, he was the first one there.” She shakes her head fondly. “He never really had any friends. Just the horses. But they loved him, trusted him, and in return he blossomed into a wonderful human being with their help.”

Dean isn’t sure if that’s the cheesiest thing he’s ever heard, or what, but it’s so damn  _ Cas _ that he’s pretty sure it is the most  _ awesome _ thing. And he eagerly waits for Ellen to continue to tell him more about this strange, mysterious,  _ awesome _ guy.

“Eventually I moved away, and lost touch with Castiel. Actually, I didn’t talk to him again until I was asked to participate in this equine assisted therapy program. I immediately thought of Castiel, and called my Aunt for his number. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

Dean settles back into his crappy hospital pillow with a tired grin. “Cool,” he says.

Ellen stands up with a sigh. “Dean, I believe you when you say that this was an accident. You have come a long way since we started, and I truly believe you would not intentionally try to kill yourself. I will have a talk with your doctor, and see about getting you released shortly.” Dean opens his mouth to thank her, but is stopped when she holds up a finger. “But, I want to extract a promise from you, do you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I want you to promise me that you will  _ not _ take any more Oxy. Or anything else, am I clear?”

Dean nods emphatically. “Crystal,” he croaks. And Dean Winchester does not break his promises.


	7. Chapter Seven

###  Chapter Seven

Dean watches Castiel bringing in Tonka warily. “Why are we using Tonka and not Thunder?” he asks Ellen, who is standing beside him. He’s  _ seen _ Thunder be ridden. Heck, he’s seen Thunder be ridden without a freakin’ saddle, for crying out loud! This horse could be a...a bloody rodeo horse for all he knows! And they expect him to get on him?

“Tonka is a horse with the equine therapy program. Thunder is Castiel’s personal horse. Don’t worry. Tonka is used to having people who don’t know how to ride on him. Besides, the whole point of equine assisted therapy is to help you rebuild your confidence, Dean,” Ellen says gently. 

“My confidence is just fine, thank you very much. And I thought all I had to do was brush them!” Dean knows he’s whining, but right now he doesn’t give a shit. “How come I have to ride one now?”

“Dean, can you tell me why you are nervous about getting on the horse?”

“‘Cause contrary to popular belief, I don’t wanna die?” Uhh...shouldn’t that be obvious? Sheesh.

Ellen chuckles. “You won't die, Dean. And Castiel can lead you around the arena with the lead rope if you need him to.”

Great, he can be lead around just like a goddamn child. Just what he always wanted!  _ Not _ . He scowls. “No. It’s fine. I can do this.”

Cas stops beside them and holds the lead rope out expectantly for Dean to take. He sighs loudly and takes it. “I get to use a saddle, right?” he asks.

Cas grins at him. “I think it’s best for now,” he replies brightly. “But I can always teach you to ride without one in the future!” 

Dean makes a face. Nope. He’ll leave that to Cas. The three of them and Tonka head into the barn. 

“I’ll grab his tack, Dean, if you want to tie him there and grab his brushes? You remember where they are?” 

Dean nods. He looks down at the lead in his hands. Shit, there was some special way he had to tie this… He turns to call out to Cas, but the other man is already gone, disappeared down another aisle. 

“Need help, Dean?” Ellen asks.

Dean looks over to her. “Uhh…” he says. “Maybe? I can’t remember how to tie the lead.”

“May I show you?”

Dean nods and watches carefully as Ellen goes over the steps to tying the lead. It’s weird, but he finds he  _ wants _ to learn this. To remember how to properly tie up a horse. Oh god… He  _ is _ turning into a girl!  

“Do you remember why we do it this way?” she asks as she finishes.

“In case we need to get the horse untied quickly,” Dean responds. 

“Yup. You never know when something will happen, and the last thing you want is to be unable to get your horse freed quickly. Go grab the brushes, and then we can get started.”

Dean heads down the aisle towards the room where the brushes are kept. Several horses that are inside the barn stick their heads out over their stall doors. He recognizes Sunny, and stops to give him a quick pat. The horse bumps his chest with his nose. “You are a friendly guy, hey?” he murmurs. “Maybe I’ll come say hi later.” He goes into the room near Sunny’s stall and grabs the brushes labelled Tonka.

When he gets back, Castiel is there with a deep brown leather saddle slung over the stall door. The leather gleams, even in the dim light, and it’s obvious it is well looked after. 

Cas beams at him. “Let’s get him brushed up and then I will show you how to saddle,” he says.

Fifteen minutes later, Castiel pulls out a soft red pad from underneath the saddle. 

“What’s that for?” Dean asks curiously.

“This goes under the saddle so that the saddle doesn’t rub on Tonka and give him sores. When you’re putting it on, you need to make sure it covers his withers, right here.”

Dean swings the pad up, a little surprised by the weight of it. Cas hands him the saddle after, and he manages to get that up into the right spot, too.

He’s shown how to do up all the strap thingys and buckle dohickeys, but he knows he’s not gonna remember any of that shit. But he nods along like he supposes he’s expected to. The...what was it? Headstall is last, and Cas shows Dean how to slip it into the mouth and then on the horse’s head. Yeah...Not doing that anytime soon. He likes his fingers exactly where they are.

They head into the arena, and Dean is grateful nobody else is around to see what he is certain is going to be one big shit show. Dean Winchester on a freakin’ horse. Yippe ki yay, mother fuckers. 

“So now you just stand to the side like this and put your foot into the stirrup then haul yourself up.” Cas demonstrates for him before jumping off. “Do you need me to give you a boost?” 

Dean shakes his head. Not a chance. “I’ll manage,” he says. “Just...Just make sure he doesn’t run away on me or anything.” Dean stands just like Cas showed him and lifts his foot. Or tries to, anyways. Holy shit, his legs don’t bend that way...But after a couple awkward attempts that make his face color red - seriously, Cas makes shit look so easy! - he manages to get his foot in. 

“Good, now grab the saddle horn and pull yourself up!”

Dean grits his teeth and hauls his ass into the saddle, landing with a loud oof! Tonka flicks an ear in his direction, but that’s his only acknowledgement. Dean holds onto the saddle horn for all he’s worth. Good horsie…

Ellen walks over and looks up at him with a big smile. “Great! Now Castiel is going to lead you a couple times around the arena, just so that you can get used to the movement, then you can try on your own.”

Dean feels like a complete idiot as he is lead around by Cas. He can feel his ears start to redden as he tries his best to stay on with the strange movement. Thank god Sam isn’t here, or he’d be busting a gut at this. 

“You’re doing great, Dean,” Cas says from where he is walking in front.

“I feel stupid,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Cas slows down and brings the three of them to a halt. He tilts his head up at Dean and scrunches up his nose. “Why?” he asks. 

“Because you’re leading me around like I’m a freakin’ six year old!” 

Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay. Are you ready to try on your own?” he asks, holding up the reins. 

Is he? Dean glances over at Ellen, who gives him an encouraging nod, then back at Cas who is standing there patiently. Tonka, for his part, seems utterly unconcerned about the internal drama going on inside his rider. 

“You don’t have to if you aren’t ready, Dean. There is nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. But if you are, you have nothing to be afraid of. Tonka won’t let anything happen to you. And neither will I,” Cas says quietly, drawing Dean’s attention back to him.

Okay. He can do this. He takes a deep breath and nods, unprying his fingers from where they had stiffened around the saddle horn. Jesus. Was he really holding on that tight? 

Cas swings the reins over the horse’s head and shows Dean how to hold them. “I’ll be right beside you,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready, just lightly squeeze him with your legs.”

Dean nods again, and after a minute he slams his eyes shut and gives a gentle squeeze with his legs. When Tonka ambles forward placidly instead of the lurching gallop Dean was expecting, he pries one eye open. Then the other. Huh. This is...okay. 

They walk around the arena a couple of times more, Dean gaining confidence with each lap. “How do I make him go faster?” he says with a grin. He’s made for speed, and this slow pace is boring now!

Cas chuckles. “You squeeze your legs a little harder, but maybe-”

Dean squeezes his legs and Tonka breaks into a fast trot. Fuck! FUCKfuckfuck! Dean bounces in the saddle at the unfamiliar gait, and nearly drops the reins in his haste to grab the saddle horn. He’s trying desperately not to hit his crotch on the thing, ‘cause that would suck out loud, as well as not bounce right out of the saddle. And Cas does this without a saddle? Fucking idiot!

“Pull back on the reins, Dean!” 

Dean hauls back on the reins with the hand not holding the horn, and Tonka tosses his head, immediately stopping and...reversing? Dean’s eyes widen. Not good...“Cas!” he calls, a slight tremor in his voice. “What the fuck is he doing?” 

“He’s backing up.”

Wow. Cas is the master of the obvious. “No shit! How do I make him  _ not _ back up?” Like, now would be awesome.

“Loosen your reins!”

Dean promptly drops the reins, and Tonka stops moving like a psycho crazy beast. Huh. Lookit that. It actually worked...

Castiel and Ellen come over to them, Cas grinning madly and Ellen shaking her head ruefully.

“Maybe we should stick with walking for a bit, get your confidence built up before you try something faster,” Ellen says.

“That was great, Dean!” That coming from Cas, who is grinning at him proudly. He reaches over and picks up the reins, handing them back over to Dean. “Don’t want to drop these, though.”

At Cas’s praise, Dean puffs up a bit. He smiles slowly. Okay, maybe it was a  _ little _ nerve wracking there for a minute, but he stayed on. And managed to stop the horse. He looks at Cas and Ellen and waggles his eyebrows. “Hey, come on, Ellen. I got this. Think I’m ready to gallop?”

~*~*~*~*~

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is proud as they unsaddle Tonka.

“Yeah?”

“You did really well today. I remember my first time on a horse... I fell off.”

Dean isn’t sure if Cas is just saying that or if he really did, but he appreciates the compliment anyways. “Thanks, Cas.”

“He’s right, you know. You got on the horse despite your misgivings, and that’s a huge step in the right direction.” Dean glances over at Ellen, who smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “Now, you two knock yourselves out. I’m done here for the day.” She flips her long hair over her shoulders. “Gotta get home and make dinner for Bill. I swear, that man needs to learn how to cook his own darn food.” She pats Tonka on the neck as she pulls out her phone. “He better have remembered to take out the steaks…I’ll see you boys later. And Dean, call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes her as she walks away. He is finding that he is really liking Ellen, which is a bit of a surprise since she’s a shrink. But she is  _ really _ not a typical shrink. Not that Dean has any previous knowledge, but hey, he’s seen the movies…

“I’ll go put away the tack, do you want to start brushing Tonka? We’ll give him a quick brush and some oats as a treat, and then we can leave, too.”

Didn’t they already brush him? Whatever. He shrugs and picks up a brush, being sure to brush the way Cas showed him to. A motion soothes him, and he finds himself getting lost in the repetitive action. So lost, that when Cas comes up beside him, he doesn’t even hear him.

Dean jumps back with a yell, dropping the brush and flattening himself against the stall, eyes wild. He holds his fists up defensively. Tonka tosses his head as high as the lead will allow him and steps to the side, thankfully not crushing Dean against the door. 

Cas’s mouth drops open in a small ‘o’ of surprise, and he takes a step back. “Dean, what’s wrong?” Dean is still gasping and shaking, unable to answer. Cas pulls out his phone. “That’s it, I’m calling Ellen to come back here. She won’t be very far yet…”

No… “No.” Dean manages to croak. He shakes his head. “No. Gimme a sec...” He says more firmly. Thank fuck he didn’t hyperventilate… Finally, after what seems like a billion goddamn years, but is probably only like, two minutes or some shit like that, Dean feels his body release some of the tension, and he sags back against the stall. As soon as he does, Tonka’s face is right there, sniffing him curiously. Dean closes his eyes and pats the horse’s face.

“He’s concerned,” Cas says. “And I must admit, I am too. Are you alright?”

Dean cracks an eye and looks over at the other man. He still has his phone out, but his blue eyes are trained on Dean intently. “I’ll be okay. Really. You don’t need to call Ellen.” He pushes himself off the stall with a sigh. Jesus, he’s gonna scare Cas off before they even really start anything if he keeps this up. Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. “So, you know how I said we needed to talk?”

The other man nods slowly. “Yes. You said you needed to tell me some things.”

“Umm...Did you maybe want to come over to my place tonight? I’m thinkin’ around seven thirty or so?”

“I can do that, yes.”

“Great.” Or maybe not so great, depending on how Cas handles this… Could go either way...Fuck.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean and Sam are sitting outside on their back porch, enjoying a beer and the sunshine. Sam is flicking through the latest edition of some stupid celebrity gossip magazine, idly turning the pages as he sips his brew. Dean looks over at his brother and chuckles. Seriously, how can he read that crap? Rots the brain. 

Sam looks up. “What?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Just amazed how you used to read shit like Moby Dick and now you’re caught up in  _ People _ ,” Dean teases.

“It’s not  _ People _ , Dean. It’s  _ US Weekly. _ ” Sam rolls his eyes in exasperation.

Dean waves his hand. Same shit, different pile. “Put lipstick on a pig, Sammy, and it’s still a pig.” He reaches down and snatches up one of his hot rod mags, tossing it onto the table beside his brother. “There. There’s some good reading for ya. Might actually learn something useful in that one.”

Sam sits up and pulls off his sunglasses, offering his brother a mild glare as he shuts the magazine in his hand. “No thanks,” he says. “I don’t get hot and bothered over old cars. Unlike you.”

Dean grins widely at him. “You just have no taste, brother.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna grab another beer, you want one?” At Dean’s nod, he disappears into the house. He is back a moment later, flopping back into his chair and handing Dean a new beer. “So how many more horse therapy sessions do you have?” he asks. His hair flops into his eyes, and he pushes it behind his ear distractedly. 

Dean shrugs. “Dunno. A few, and then Ellen is going to ‘re-evaluate me’” he uses air quotations and rolls his eyes, “to see if I need more.”

“Do you think they’re helping?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess so. I mean, I haven’t had quite as many, uhh...you know.” He shifts uncomfortably. He hates talking about that stuff, and Sam knows it. But his brother has more then earned a little bit of leeway here. The guy  _ did _ leave school to take care of Dean after it happened, after all. “And my nightmares aren’t quite as bad.” He takes a big swallow of beer, not looking at Sam.

“Have you been taking any drugs?” 

Okay. So it’s gonna go like that, is it? Dean sighs and shakes his head. “Sam, I promised you no more Oxy, and I meant it. That whole waking up in the hospital thing? A little too much, even for me.” He takes a sip of his beer. It’s not that he wouldn’t  _ mind _ his Oxy back, it’s just that he’s terrified that next time Sam won’t be around to save his ass if he gets out of control. 

Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good, Dean.” He tilts his head as he looks at Dean. Looks eerily similar to Cas when he does that. Squinty eyes and everything. Jeesh. “And you and Cas…?”

Dean slips his fingernail under the corner of his beer label and starts peeling it off as he thinks about how to answer. After a minute or so, he huffs out a breath and looks over at his brother. “I think something’s wrong with me,” he says bluntly.

Sam sits back in surprise. “What? What the hell are you talking about, Dean?”

“Sam, after what happened, I shouldn’t be...I mean, I like Cas. I mean I really  _ like _ him. And I shouldn’t! Not after…” Dean crumples up the now peeled label and tosses it onto the table. 

Sam gives a nods of understanding. “Ah. I get it, Dean.” He steeples his fingers in front of his face and leans back. Like he’s a freakin’ therapist. What a dork. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me?  _ Nothing _ . It’s okay to be attracted to another person after going through what you did.”

Oh, Sammy. It is so far from okay it’s on the fucking  _ moon _ . “No. I shouldn’t be like that.”

Sam reels back in surprise. “Like what?”

“You know, liking another guy.”

“Is this because Castiel is a guy? Let me ask you something. If Castiel was a girl, would you be okay with it?”

Cas as a girl? Uhhh… What kind of question is that? Dean can’t even picture what kind of girl Cas would be. He, or she, rather, would lose all  _ Cas-iness _ . He shrugs. “I don’t fucking know, Sam. Cas is not a girl, so your question is moot anyways.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if you think something is wrong with you because you like another guy after you were ra-”

Dean slices his hand through the air. “ _ Don’t! _ Don’t fucking call it that.” Not even to himself has Dean ever called it that. The  _ R _ word would make it too...real. 

Sam blinks at him. Dean can tell he’s about to make a comment about that, but thankfully shuts his mouth with a snap. After a minute, he continues again, “oookay. Assaulted. After you were  _ assaulted _ by a man, or if it’s because you think there’s something wrong with you personally.”

Dean shrugs. “Both?” He stands and shakes his head. “Sorry, Sam. Didn’t mean to be Debbie Downer. Forget I said anything.”

“No, Dean. Please. Sit. Let’s talk about this.” 

Puppy dog look. Shit. Dean sits back down. “Why do I like him?” Dean wonders out loud.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “I can’t tell you that. But you do like him, and what I  _ can _ tell you is that there is nothing wrong with that. At all. And I’m no expert, and you might get a better answer if you talked to Ellen about this, but I think what you’re feeling is a natural reaction.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Natural reaction, hey? That what they’re calling it these days? 

“Do you think Cas likes you, too?”

Dean nods. “Oh, I  _ know _ he does. I just don’t know how to...do anything about it, I guess? But he’s coming over tonight, and I’m gonna tell him what happened. It’s only fair that he knows what he’s getting into.”

Sam scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Okay. That’s good. I’ll clear out tonight, give you some privacy.”

“Thanks man. I appreciate it.” Dean nods his head at his brother. “Hopefully he won’t run screaming, anyways.” 

Sam’s grins. “He’ll understand, Dean. And then I guess just see where you two end up, and take it from there. And, Dean, for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. You deserve this.”

Won’t go that far, Sammy. But… “Thanks.”

~*~*~*~

When the doorbell rings at quarter past seven, Dean’s heart beats wildly in his chest. He’s early! Jesus. Cas is here. Cas is here and they are going to talk...Fuck, why did he ever agree to this? He walks slowly to the door, trying to keep himself calm as he does so. He can do this...he can  _ totally _ do this. No. He can’t do this. He turns around and runs his fingers through his hair. Fuck...The doorbell rings again, and Dean jumps. Okay, already!

He forces himself to go to the door. But before he opens it, he quickly gives himself a once over in the hallway mirror. Well, if Cas is scared away, it won’t be because of his looks at least… He opens the the door to reveal Cas standing there, hand on the doorbell like he was going to ring it again.

“Hello, Dean,” his gravelly voice greet him warmly. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, it’s fine.” Dean stands there awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. It’s weird, being tongue tied around someone he’s attracted to...And Cas is looking good in well fitting jeans and a tight red t-shirt that makes his blue eyes simply pop...

Cas cocks an eyebrow at him. “As nice as the weather is outside, Dean, I thought the whole point of me coming to your house was to be invited in.”

Dean’s face burns as he realizes he’s been staring. “Shit, sorry. Yeah, come on in, Cas.” Dean feels like a complete idiot as he opens the door wider, letting Castiel step into the house. Oh yeah, ‘cause he isn’t obvious  _ at all _ .

Castiel smiles at him as he steps past. He tugs off his shoes and looks around, and Dean is just glad Sammy helped him clean up a bit before Cas showed up.

He motions Cas to follow him, and they step past the living room into the kitchen. “So,” he says gesturing around them. “This is the house. There’s not much to see, but uhh...I can give you a tour if you’d like. Or we can start with a beer.” Please say beer, please say beer...

“A beer would be fine, thank you, Dean.” 

Yes! 

Cas wanders back into the living room as Dean opens the fridge and pulls out two beers. Blue Buck because he knows Cas likes it. They aren’t even technically  _ together _ yet and Dean’s already whipped. Jesus.

He brings them out into the living room and over to where Cas is humming as he picks up a photo and squints as he examines it. The one that Dean keeps putting in the drawer and Sam keeps pulling out and putting it back. The one where all four Winchesters are smiling like some sort of happy ‘American dream’ fucking family.  _ That _ photo. Dean scowls at it.

Cas puts the photograph back down and takes the beer that Dean is holding out to him. His head tilts slightly as he takes in Dean’s face. “I take it you don’t like that photograph?” he asks. “You all look very happy. I assume those are your parents?”

“Yes.” Dean says shortly. He snatches up the picture, tossing it in the drawer and slamming the drawer closed angrily. Cas looks taken aback, and Dean flushes in embarrassment. Fuck, he’s acting like a child in front of Castiel. He sighs and puts his beer down, taking the picture back out and holding it out for Cas to take. Cas is hesitant as he plucks it out of Dean’s hand, but he looks down at it again anyways.

“Sorry, Cas. Yeah, those are my parents. The pretty blonde is my mom, obviously. Mary. She died, geez, ten years ago now? Car accident. She was...incredible…Always used to bake me chocolate chip cookies when I was younger. I still remember the smell of them baking...” Dean trails off wistfully. God, he misses his mom. He can’t help but think things might have worked out differently if she was still alive. Even though he knows that’s just wishful thinking, he can’t help it. 

“I am sorry, Dean.” And he does sound sorry. Not that crap people spit out when they feel obligated to say something, but truly, genuinely, sorry. “You look like her.”

Dean smiles at him. “Thanks, Cas.”

“And your father?” 

Dean’s face darkens. “Haven’t talked to the old man in over a year,” Dean grumbles. “Kinda has to do with, uhh… with what I need to talk to you about.”

Cas sucks his lower lip in and nods. “Ahh. I see. Would you like to start?”

What? Now? Fuck. “No time like the present, I guess.” Dean motions to the couch. “Have a seat.”

Dean sits in the corner of the couch. He wants to draw his knees up, but is all too aware of how pathetic that’ll make him look. He forces himself to sit still and not fidget, wishing for something stronger to drink. He feels the weight of Castiel’s stare on him, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Could you…? I mean, could you not look at me when I tell you this?”

“Of course, Dean. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Cas. It’s just…” He trails off, unsure.

“You don’t have to explain. I won’t watch you if that would make you feel more comfortable, I promise. Please, tell me what it is you believe I need to know.”

Dean chances a quick look over at the other man, and true to his word he is staring at the beer bottle in his hands. He takes a deep breath. Where to even begin? “So, I guess it all started when I began working at my friend Benny’s garage. Benny knew this guy, Mi- Mich-” Dean can’t bring himself to say the name. He sighs and takes a long drink of his beer to try to ease the lump in his throat. It doesn’t work. “He knew this guy from somewhere, anyways. I don’t know where. This guy kept coming in whenever I was working, needing shit done on his car. Looking back, I’m pretty sure he was sabotaging his own car just to have an excuse to bring it in.” Dean lets out a high pitched laugh. “I mean, come  _ on _ . How many times do you need your freaking spark plugs fixed? It’s not even that hard of a job to do yourself! You just have to-”

“Dean...” 

Shit. Rambling. “Right. Sorry. Anyways, Sam was home from Stanford. His birthday was coming up and I was at the bar trying to figure out what to do. Big one. Twenty five. This guy came in and sat beside me. Invited me to a bar-b-que or some shit at his place. He left when I said no, but he must’ve been waiting for me, or something…” Dean shudders as the memory of getting attacked in the alleyway tries to grab at him with it’s claws. He clenches his fists, feeling his nails dig in. Thankfully Cas doesn’t push, and when Dean is able to collect himself, he continues. “Woke up in his basement. I was tied up and na…”

He can’t do this. He wraps his arms around himself and pushes to his feet, the beer bottle slipping off the corner of the table when his knee knocks the edge. The remnants of the beer slowly soak into the carpet at his feet.

Castiel stands as well and comes to stand near Dean, reaching out towards him. He’s too close...Fear rises up in Dean’s gut and latches into him with it’s sharp hooks. “Don’t touch me!” he snarls. 

Cas quickly backs away, hands in the air placatingly and blue eyes wide. “I won’t, Dean. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you...”

Jesus, Cas is talking to him like he’s a fucking wounded animal. Not far from the damn truth. Dean can feel tremors wracking his whole body. He hasn’t even got to the worst part, yet...Fuck it. “I’ll be right back,” he tells Cas, and rushes out of the room.

Swinging open his bedroom door, he makes a beeline for his nightstand. He debates for a moment between the whiskey and the pot, and snatches up a joint. Thank fuck he already had one rolled. With shaky hands he pulls out his zippo and lights it, inhaling deeply. He stands there and puffs away for a few minutes. Sam will have a conniption fit when he finds out Dean smoked up in the house, but right now he doesn’t give a fucking damn. Sam can go suck it. Just as he’s about to leave, he snags the bottle of whiskey as well. Just in case.

He heads back into the living room where Castiel is waiting for him. The other man looks visibly upset, and Dean sighs around the joint in his mouth. He takes it out and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Cas…” he starts. “Fuck. Sorry, this is just...it’s not easy.”

“We can stop, Dean. You don’t have to tell me.”

Everything in Dean wants to stop. Wants to not tell this nightmare of a story to a man who  _ might _ just be more than a friend. But if he stops now, if he can’t even  _ talk _ about it to Cas, then there really is no hope. And Dean is so damn sick and tired of feeling hopeless. He shakes his head. “No. I have to get this out.” He holds up the joint with a shrug. “This is good shit, anyways. Calms me down quick.”

He notices Cas’s empty beer bottle on the table and jerks his chin towards it. “Let me grab you another?” He doesn’t wait for the other’s reply, just turns and walks into the kitchen. Besides, he’s gonna want one, after he hears what Dean has to say. He grabs the beer out of the fridge and grabs himself a tumbler glass, pouring a generous amount of whiskey into it. Then he walks back to the couch and sits down heavily, handing Cas the new beer. 

He leans back and finishes the joint, glancing around. Fuck. No ashtrays. Not that they would normally have need of them, but still...He shrugs and drops the roach into the empty beer bottle. Mental note...buy a goddamn ashtray…

He takes a deep breath and picks up where he left off. “So like I said, woke up tied up and, uhh… naked.” Okay...got through that word. Jesus. He sniffs and takes a large gulp of whiskey, letting the burn as it travels down his throat give him the liquid courage he needs to finish. “He came down the stairs, and  _ fuck _ , I was so scared. I was scared, Cas…” His voice cracks at the end. He chances a glance over, and sees Cas sitting there with his eyes squeezed shut. Probably knows what’s coming and can’t bear to look at Dean...

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “He had a whip. Didn’t want to use it, didn’t want to  _ wreck my pretty looks _ . But that didn’t stop him. Got me good a few times…” Dean lightly runs his fingers over his ribs in remembered pain. “Then he...he…” He can feel the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, and wills them to disappear. One manages to escape and trails down his cheek, catching at the corner of his lips. He shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it, Cas. Please don’t make me say it. I know you know what happened, you can guess it by now, but  _ please _ don’t make me say it. Please, Cas. Please...” Dean is begging, and he knows it, but he can’t stop. He’s horrified at himself, but the alcohol and emotional overload destroy his walls that has put up to protect himself, and now there’s nothing left. He is openly crying now, tears falling past his squeezed tight eyelids. “ _ Please _ ,” he whispers one more time before hiding his face in his hands and weeping.

“Dean. Will you look at me?” Castiel’s voice is husky with emotion, and Dean shakes his head once more. He can’t bear to see the disgust on Cas’s face. Not Castiel... “Dean, please. Please look at me.” Great, now Cas is begging, too...Dean lifts his head slightly and peers through his tears at Cas. Cas looks...devastated? He is crying as well, which makes Dean heave out a broken sob. “Oh, Dean…” Cas reaches forward, only stop stop suddenly. The look on his face is one of understanding. 

Dean  _ wants _ him to reach out,  _ wants _ to be held, and right at this moment doesn’t care that that makes him a goddamn child. But he’s so fucking scared still…Slowly his hand creeps out towards Cas. The other man waits, before slowly moving his to meet it. Not making any sudden movements, and exuding calm despite the torrent of emotions in his eyes. They clasp hands and the moment their fingers intertwine, Dean is done. He gasps out a breath, “Cas,” and then he’s wrapped in the other man’s arms, sobbing brokenly onto his shoulder. Finally receiving the comfort he has denied himself for the past year.


	8. Chapter Eight

###  Chapter Eight

 

Dean comes back to himself gradually. He is horrifyingly embarrassed that he is still being held by Cas, but it feels so damn good to have someone hold him who isn’t hurting him, that he gives himself a moment. Just one...Annnnnd moment’s over. 

Dean pushes himself up with one hand and furiously scrubs at his puffy eyes with the other. “Sorry, Cas,” he mutters. 

“Dean, you have nothing to apologize for,” Cas says as he reluctantly lets Dean go. “I...I am shocked and horrified at what you have been through. I…”

“Don’t, Cas. I just got myself under control, kay?” Dean huffs out a breath. “Just...let’s not talk about it for, uhh…” Ever? Would forever work? “At least a few minutes. I need…” He shuffles back over to his side of the couch and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. God, he’s so humiliated right now…They sit, each lost in their own thoughts.

Cas stands up after a minute and begins pacing back and forth. Dean can’t help but shrink down slightly. “I can’t believe...Oh, Dean...I’m just so...so  _ angry! _ ” 

“‘M sorry…” It’s a good thing Dean didn’t tell him how he fucking  _ liked  _ it. How that asshole made him cum… Then he’d be angry and disgusted… Yeah. Maybe Dean’ll just keep that to himself for now.

“No! No, I’m not angry at you, Dean. Not at you. I’m angry at...at that  _ person _ ,” Cas spits out. “Who could’ve hurt you like that? God, who would do such a horrid thing?”

Psycho freaks...Assholes...

“What happened? After he-” Cas breaks off. “I mean, how did you get out?”

Dean chews on his thumbnail. “Well, to be honest I don’t really know. I must’ve passed out or something, ‘cause next thing I knew I was untied and my clothes were next to me.” He shakes his head. “Fucker just wanted to get laid, I guess…Crawled upstairs and made it to a the phone. Called my Uncle Bobby, and that was that.”

“Did you go to the police?”

Dean looks at Cas like he’s grown a third head. “Of course I did. As much as I didn’t want anyone to know about me, I couldn’t let that motherfucker do what he did to me to anybody else.” Actually, he probably wouldn’t have gone to them, but Uncle Bobby can be pretty damn persuasive...He sighs and stares at the nails he’s been chewing. “They couldn’t find him. Guess he just up and disappeared once he got what he wanted…” Dean furiously blinks back the tears he can feel wanting to start again. He doesn’t want to cry anymore…

“I’ll kill him.” Cas’s voice is vicious, and Dean looks up at him in surprise. 

“Cas…” he starts. “I appreciate you defendin’ my honor and all,” not that there's anything left  _ to _ defend, “but just leave it, ok? I didn’t tell you this so you could go all Rambo on me. I just needed you to know what the fuck you were getting into.”

Cas’s jaw is clenched, but he nods sharply. “Alright. But there are no guarantees if I ever run into this...this  _ thing _ . And Dean? Thank you for trusting me with this.” Castiel sounds so damn serious. 

What can Dean say to that? He shrugs in response. They sit there together for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

“So what did you mean about your father?” Cas asks, breaking the silence. “I mean, you said earlier it had to do with what you were going to tell me.”

Of course he’d remember that little tidbit. Dean sucks in his lower lip. “Well, after all of... _ that _ ...my dad, he found out. He’s a Marine, or was...He taught Sam and I a bunch of shit when we were younger. How to defend ourselves...shit like that. After what happened...He basically stopped talking to me. And then he practically disappeared. He’s phoned Sammy a couple of times, but won’t say where he is or nothin’. Not that I care.”

Castiel makes a face. “I can’t believe a father could do such a thing.”

“Yeah, well, you and Sam both. Sammy thinks I’m overreacting, but…” He trails off with a shrug. He slaps his hands on his legs. Change of subject needed, pronto. “You want another beer? I want another beer.” Dean stands and without waiting for Cas’s reply heads into the kitchen. He stands in front of the open fridge for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact that Cas knows. Cas  _ knows _ and didn’t run away. Jesus. He gives himself a shake and realizes he’s been standing in front of the fridge for a good minute or so, so he snags two beers and heads back to Cas.

“So,” he says. He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage for what he’s going to say next.  “Now you know. Still want to take a chance on me?”

“Dean, you could have told me you were raised by wolves after having been abandoned by your parents when you were six years old, and having had to fight for your survival after your wolf-parents started a feud with the cougars, you managed to come out on top and were found by human hunters and that you only recently learned how to use kitchen utensils and I would still want to be with you,” Cas says in one giant enthusiastic breath.

Wait...what? Did he just…? Dean looks at Cas incredulously. “Do you even know what that sounds like?” he asks. ‘Cause there’s no way...

Cas nods. “Yes.”

Well...alright then. Guess there is a way. Can’t argue with that. Dean huffs out a breath. “Cas, you are one crazy awesome mother fucker, you know that? But I gotta say, man, if we are gonna do this,” he gestures between the two of them, “this  _ thing _ , then we gotta take it slow. I need to build up to it, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Of course, Dean. You can set whatever pace you need. I won’t push you into anything you are not ready for, I promise.”

Dean smiles at the other man. “Yeah, Cas. I know you won’t.”

“Would you like another marijuana joint?” 

Dean looks over in surprise. Really? Who the hell says  _ marijuana joint _ ? He barks out a hoarse laugh. “No. I am actually okay. That whole chick flick moment ruined any kind of awesome high I can get, anyways. I’m actually feeling kind of drained.” And he is. Emotionally. Physically. Just. Damn. Drained.

Cas squeezes his hand. “Would you like me to go?”

“No. No, just...could you maybe just...Just hang out for a bit? I don’t really wanna be alone, not right now.”

Castiel smiles warmly at him. “I can do that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So, how’d it go?” Sam asks as he comes into the living room. God, he’s like a kid on Hallowe’en. Practically jumping off the walls. How much coffee did the kid have?

“Okay, I suppose,” Dean replies. He flicks off the television and runs a hand through his hair and looking at his brother. “Told him everything. And he didn’t run away, so...bonus points for me, I guess.”

Sam nods. “Of course he wouldn’t, Dean. Did you really think he would?”

Dean shrugs. Well, yeah…

Sam sits down beside him on the couch. “Sometimes I wish you’d have a little more faith in people, Dean.”

“Kinda hard when I’ve been fucked over. Literally.” Dean replies, bitterness lacing his voice.

Sam jabs him in the ribs, causing Dean to clench his jaw. “Don’t, Sam,” he warns.

“Oh, come on. It’s just me. And how many times do I have to say -”

“ _ Stop talking about yourself that way, Dean _ ,” Dean replies in a mocking voice. He waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I get it, okay? Sorry. It’s just hard.”

“I know.” Sam leans back against the couch. “So care to tell me anything else?”

Dean knows Sam is fishing for more info. But Sam is also kind of a jerk sometimes, so Dean decides to play in kind. “Nope.”

“Dean…”

“Sammy…”

Sam huffs. “It’s  _ Sam _ .” He’s quiet for a minutes, jiggling his knee up and down. Hyperactive toddler, much? “So are you two...?” He trails off suggestively. 

“Jesus, Sam. I just told you that I told him everything, and you are pushing for details on if we got together or not?” 

“Sorry. I realize that’s kind of insensitive.” Ya think? “So...are you?”

Oh for the love of… “Yes. Does that make you happy? We are...whatever the fuck we are, but yes.  _ Together _ as you so eloquently put it.”

Sam grins so damn wide it looks like his face is going to split into two. “Dean, that’s...that’s  _ awesome _ . Congratulations!” 

Dean stares at his little brother. “‘M not getting married, for fucks sake. Congratulations? Really?” Who congratulates someone for entering a relationship? Well,  _ besides _ Sam…

“Sorry, but not sorry, Dean. I’m just really happy for you.” Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “I knew Cas would be a good match for you as soon as I met him.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “What? How?”

“Please. It wasn’t hard to see how he was looking at you.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Looking at me  _ how _ ?”

“Relax. Not in a bad way or anything. Just like he was really paying attention to you when you speak, and probably thinks you’re hot, if the moon eyes were any indication.” Moon eyes? Really? “Besides, I don’t get any sort of hinky vibe from him at all. So I don’t think you have anything to worry about, man. Seriously. Now, excuse me please, I have something important I need to do.”

Important? Like what? “Where’re you going?” 

“To call Uncle Bobby!” Sam says as he darts out the living room door.

Wait...“ _ Sam!”  _ Dean flies after his brother. “No! Absolutely not!” 

“But Dean, he’ll be so happy for ya!” Sam is already scrolling through his phone as he darts around the kitchen table, dodging Dean as he comes barreling after him.

“Sam, no!” Dean tries in vain to grab the phone from Sam’s hand, but his brother is freakishly tall and easily avoids him. Dean huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You won’t be able to reach him, anyways. He’s on that retreat in England with Pastor Jim, remember?”

“Nuh-uh...he came back early. Got an email from him yesterday. Didn’t say much, just that he was coming back a week early.”

Shit. Dean growls and makes one more lunge for the phone, but it’s too late.

“Hi, Uncle Bobby!”

“Sam, I mean it,” Dean growls. It’s not that he doesn’t want Uncle Bobby to know, it’s just that he wants to tell him himself. In person. After Uncle Bobby  _ meets _ Cas…

“How was the retreat?” A pause. “Oh, jeez, really? Wow…” 

Dean glares daggers in Sam’s direction. Little brothers can be such dickwads. 

“Yeah, actually. We’re doing great...Uh-huh…” Sam smiles at Dean. “He’s doing really well. He started doing equine assisted therapy a few weeks ago…Horses, Uncle Bobby. Horse therapy.”

Dean facepalms. Great. Thanks a shit ton, Sam. He can hear the teasing already…Uncle Bobby is fucking relentless when it comes to teasing his nephews…

“Yeah, no. Here, I’ll let you talk to him.”

Dean looks over at Sam in surprise. He might’ve told Uncle Bobby about the horses, but he didn’t say anything about Cas...He takes the phone from Sam, who winks at him. He puts the phone to his ear. “Hi, Uncle Bobby.”

“Dean! Great to hear your voice, kiddo.”

“You too,” Dean replies with a smile. And it is. He didn’t realize just how much he missed talking to his ornery old uncle. “How was England?”

“Cold. Wet. Windy. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I left. I was just telling your brother that these old bones can’t handle that type of dampness no more. Could barely get out of bed.”

“That sucks, Uncle Bobby. Sorry to hear.”

“It is what it is. Growing old ain’t no flippin’ joyride, that’s for sure. So Sam was telling me you started some sort of new therapy. Horses, is it?” the old man gives a chuckle. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Dean Winchester got on a horse.”

Dean can hear the smile in his uncle’s voice, and he shoots a dirty look at Sam, who is grinning like a fucking idiot. “Yeah. My therapist thought it would help. You know, with the PTSD and shit…”

“And is it?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Dean scratches his forehead. Does he tell his uncle over the phone?

“Good. You keep it up, boy, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time. Listen, I gotta run. Got lots to catch up on in the salvage yard. I’ll stop by soon for a visit, ya hear?”

“Sounds good, Uncle Bobby.”

“Say bye to your brother for me. And Dean? You need anything, you give me a shout.” Bobby hangs up without waiting for a reply.

Dean stares at the phone for a minute before turning it and handing it to his brother. “You’re a dick,” he says.

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes. “Please. I didn’t say anything about Castiel,” he points out.

“You told him about the damn horse therapy!”

“So? It’s true.  _ And _ it’s helping. I don’t see why you are so embarrassed about it anyways. It’s not a  _ girly _ thing like you seem to think it is.”

And okay, so maybe Dean’s starting to get that. He’s seen Cas ride, and it looked pretty fucking awesome, but he’ll be damned if he actually admits that. Especially to Sam. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “Look, I’m going over to Cas’s place for dinner tomorrow. He agreed to take things slow, so I guess that means starting with dinner. So you’re on your own tomorrow.”

A grin. “No problem. And that’s great he’s willing to go slow.”

Yeah. Slow is doable. Dean can do slow...

~*~*~*~*~

Dean is nervous. Not just a little nervous, but the type of nervousness that makes you break out into a cold sweat. He pulls up to Cas’s house and  _ almost _ turns the Impala back the way he came. Why did he ever agree to this? He tugs the collar of his black T-shirt away from his neck, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Did it get hotter in here all of a sudden?

He peers through the windshield at the unassuming white house. It’s small, and if Dean was a girl he’d probably describe it as  _ quaint _ or something like that. He swallows and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Okay, he can do this. Get back on that horse, right? No pun intended…

“What do you think, baby?” he murmurs. “This’ll be okay, right? Cas is good people…” With a deep breath, Dean opens the door of the Impala and steps onto the drive. He slowly makes his way up to the door, each step making his heart beat faster.

Is this considered a date? It’s at Cas’s house, so...maybe not? But on the other hand, they  _ did _ agree to start seeing each other...Maybe he should’ve asked Cas if this is a date before...Oh geez…

Dean swipes a hand down his face. He can’t do this...He whirls around, but before he has taken one step back towards his baby, he hears the creak of the door. 

“Dean?” Shit.

Dean spins around. “Hey! Hey, Cas! I was, uhh...just grabbing my, uhh...my coat. I left it. In the car. Over there...So…”

Castiel squints at him. “Dean, it’s stupidly hot out. What would you need a coat for?” Now he raises an eyebrow and does that little head tilt thing. “Are you nervous about tonight?” Busted…

“Uhh…”

“It’s just dinner, I promise. I already told you I won’t pressure you into anything.”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, Cas, I know.” Wow. Now Dean feels like a complete asshole. He drops the pretense of grabbing his coat - Cas is right, it’s flipping hot anyways - and walks up to the door.

Cas starts to open his arms, like he wants to give Dean a hug, but then remembers and catches himself in time. 

Dean sighs. God, this is gonna be an awkward relationship if they can’t even hug. He offers Cas a small smile and opens his arms. “Come’ere,” he says. The other man lights up and wraps Dean in a warm, comforting embrace. Dean is pretty sure he even managed not to flinch. Chalk that up to a win.

Cas releases him and smiles. “So, I was thinking after we eat maybe we could watch a movie or something? I quite enjoy movies. Especially comedies and horrors.”

Dean chuckles. “Comedy and horror, huh? Opposite ends of the spectrum there. But yeah, I’d be down. I like movies, too.” So there’s something they have in common, at least. 

Dean follows Castiel into the house, and raises his eyebrow in surprise. Woah, talk about the colour green! It’s freakin’ everywhere, even on one of the walls… Green plants, green pillows, green rug on the white floor, green throw over the arm of the couch…And are those…? Yup. A line of green jars line the mantel. 

Cas notices him looking and shrugs. “I like green. It’s my favorite colour. Reminds me of summer…”

Fair enough. Green is a nice colour. Besides, at least it isn’t pink. A pink overload might be a bit much... “I didn’t even know there were that many shades of green,” Dean jokes.

“Oh sure, there’s so many. Take your eyes, for example.”

“My eyes?” Dean looks over in surprise. “Yeah, I guess they’re kind of green…”

“Oh, they are so very green. Like the leaves of a sycamore...I could decorate a room using just the palette of your eyes.” Cas sits on the couch and gestures for Dean to do the same. “I apologize. I tend to go off like that sometimes. Like I said, I love the colour green.”

Dean can honestly say he’s never, in all his life, had someone wax poetic about his eye colour before. It’s both kind of strange and stupidly endearing. “So what’re we having for dinner?” he asks as he sits on the leather couch. And  _ damn _ that’s a comfy couch. 

“It’s a surprise,” Cas replies with a wink. “I hope you will like it, although I have never cooked it for anyone that didn’t!”

Somewhere in the kitchen, a timer dings. Cas holds up a finger. “It’s done, just need to give it a few minutes to cool then we can eat.”

Dean nods as Cas disappears into the kitchen. He shifts on the couch, comfortable yet nervous. There’s just something about Cas that makes Dean feel like he’s back in high school. And while he’s so damn grateful that Cas said he’d take it slow, there’s a part of him that just wants to kiss the guy already…

He’s brought from his thoughts by Cas coming back into the living room. “Dinner’s ready, Dean. Let’s eat and then we can pick out a movie.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Dean pushes himself off the couch and heads into the kitchen, taking the beer Cas offers him with a grateful smile. He’d take something stronger to settle his nerves, but Dean Winchester has never said no to a beer.

“Please, have a seat.” Cas gestures to the kitchen table, where two place settings are neatly set out. It’s all so damn... _ sweet _ . Thank god there are no candles, though…

Dean pulls out a chair and sits down. His stomach grumbles in anticipation. Cas sets a plate down in front of him and Dean eyes it hungrily. Man, he can’t remember the last time he was this hungry...It’s been a while, that’s for darn sure. “This looks amazing, Cas,” he says. 

It does, too. Chunks of moist looking chicken are mixed in with … is that pasta  _ homemade? _ Bright red tomatoes and green basil leaves provide a nice pop of colour, and Dean’s mouth waters. 

“Thank you, this is one of my brother’s favorites. I always have to make it for him whenever he comes to visit. Please, help yourself.”

Dean does. He piles his plate high, and when Cas has served himself an equally heaping portion, Dean digs in with gusto. His eyes roll back at the first heavenly bite. “Jesus. You gotta teach me this recipe. Sammy would love it!”

Cas looks pleased. “I would be more than happy to.” For a few minutes, the only sound in the kitchen is forks clinking on plates as both men eat. 

Dean looks up just as Cas slurps up a stray noodle. The red sauce stains his lips and chin, and Dean stares. It is kind of freaking him out that part of him wants to go all movie cliche and lick it off. Instead, he clears his throat. “You, ahh...you have something, just there,” he gestures to his own chin. 

Cas picks up the napkin and wipes his face. “Better?” He asks.

“Yeah…” Dean breathes out. He’s still staring at Cas’s face, or more specifically his lips, and catches himself with a flush. He looks back at his plate of pasta quickly. God, he really is a slut. Not only did he like his... _ assault _ , but now he wants to feel those damn lips on him. Suddenly his appetite is gone, and he twirls pasta around his fork absently. 

“Dean? Is everything okay?” Cas puts down his fork and looks at Dean curiously.

He clears his throat. “I uhh… I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. Sorry, Cas.”

Cas purses his lips,  _ those damn lips _ , as he considers Dean. Then he nods, and puts down his own fork. “I am feeling a little full myself. Why don’t we watch a movie, and we can save this for after, in case we get hungry later?”

Dean feels slightly guilty, but also grateful. He knows Cas isn’t full, but the other man isn’t making a big deal out of it. He offers a small grin. “Sure, Cas. That sounds good. Thanks.”

Cas stands and picks up their plates and brings them to the counter. He reaches into the fridge and grabs a couple more beers, before gesturing Dean to follow him into the living room. “What movie do you feel like watching? I have plenty of DVD’s we can pick from.”

Dean shrugs. Any movie will provide a distraction, so he’s not overly picky. “Whatever you want. I’m pretty easy when it comes to movies.” And other things. Apparently.

Cas hums, and moves over to the collection of DVD’s on the large mahogany bookshelf. Geez, the guy isn’t kidding. He must have over a hundred cases on there. “Ah!” He selects one and holds it up for Dean.  _ Stepbrothers.  _ “This is one of my favorites. Have you seen it?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Heard it was pretty good.”

“It’s funny. I think it is my favorite Will Ferrell movie.” Cas puts it into the machine and hits play. He steps over to the couch and sits. “If you would be more comfortable, the chair over there is very comfy. But I would quite like it if you sat here.” He pats the spot next to him, looking at Dean hopefully.

Dean hesitates for a second, before moving over and sitting beside Cas. He has to force himself to relax, but manages it. Cas smiles at him and turns back to the television as the movie starts.

The movie  _ is _ pretty funny, and Dean finds himself relaxing more as the two of them laugh at Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly’s antics. 

At one point when they are building bunk beds, Cas throws his head back and laughs so hard tears start running down his face. He’s gasping for air, and manages to squeak out, “Dean, I can’t breathe!” before the laughter takes over again. Dean is laughing with him, possibly a little  _ at _ him, and rubs his hand in circles over Cas’s back. 

“Damn, Cas,” Dean chuckles. “Don’t die on me.”

Finally Castiel manages to pulls himself back together, wiping his eyes. He glances at Dean. “That’s my favorite scene in the movie.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans. 

Cas snorts, and straightens up. Dean is about to pull his hand away, but instead uses it to pull Cas closer. Cas doesn’t hesitate, and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, sighing comfortably. It’s nice, actually and Dean relaxes as they enjoy the rest of the movie like that.

When the movie is finished, Dean looks down at Cas, who is still curled up against him. “I gotta admit,” he says, “that was actually a pretty funny movie.”

Cas nods, grinning as he pushes himself up. “I am glad you enjoyed it. Would you like to finish dinner, or I can pack it up for you to take home if you prefer?” Cas asks him.

At the thought of food, Dean’s stomach grumbles. “Guess that answers that question,” he replies.

They make their way into the kitchen, and Cas heats up the plates in the microwave. “Dean, can I ask you something?” he says hesitantly.

“‘Course.”

“Before, well...you know, were you...ummm,” Cas is beet red now, and Dean feels a flicker of apprehension. God, what’s he gonna ask? “I just, ummm…”

“Just spit it out, Cas.” Get it over with. Dean leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms.

“Were you attracted to men and women?”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.  _ That’s _ what he was so nervous to ask? Sheesh. “Both, but mostly women. I’d been with two guys, before. And nobody since.” He looks at Castiel curiously. “Why?”

Cas looks down and shuffles his feet. “I was just wondering. You...You said Denise was hot, and so…I was just wondering.”

Dean blinks. Denise? Who the fuck is Denise? It comes back to him then, the therapist in the movie. And yeah, Dean  _ did _ say she’s hot, but what’s that got to do with...Wait, is Cas... _ jealous _ ? Dean bursts out laughing. “Dude, are you jealous?” Cas turns even redder, if that is even possible, and Dean laughs harder. “I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, “I’m not laughing at you…”

Cas crosses his own arms and scowls. “Yes. You are,” he points out sulkily. 

Dean gets himself under control at Castiel’s pout. It’s kind of cute… “Cas, buddy, I like girls. I’ve always liked girls. And too be honest, I thought after...well,  _ that _ , that I would  _ only _ like girls. And that’s if I liked anyone  _ at all _ . But you got nothin’ to be jealous of, okay? I promise, I’m not gonna find some random girl, hot or otherwise, and run away with her.”

Cas sniffs, before he nods once and unfolds his arms. “Alright.” The microwave dings. “Let’s eat.”


	9. Chapter Nine

###  Chapter Nine

Over the next few weeks or so, Dean and Cas talk frequently, and manage so see each other outside of Dean’s horse therapy sessions quite a few times. Things are going well, and Dean is pretty pleased that Cas seems to be holding onto his promise to take things slow. They haven’t kissed yet, though, and Dean is finding more and more that he wants to. Or wants to try, at least. In reality, he has no clue how well that would go.

Sam, the dork, seems super excited about him and Cas getting together. He’s always asking when the next ‘date’ is. He needs to go on a date in the worst kind of way. Dean isn’t sure if he wants to punch him or not when he bugs him, but he hasn’t yet. So, that’s good, right? Dean should get bonus points for being such an awesome big brother.

Yup. Everything is going great. Life is moving along rather smoothly, and Dean has had next to no panic attacks. So, yeah. Life’s good. And then Uncle Bobby says he’s coming for a visit for the weekend, and the smoothness grinds to a screeching halt.

~*~*~*~*~

“But Dean, this is a perfect opportunity for you to introduce Uncle Bobby to Cas!”

“Dammit, Sammy! What part of ‘I’m not ready to introduce Cas as my boyfriend yet’ do you not understand?” God, his little brother is an idiot. Dean swipes his hand over his face as he shakes his head. “Why the fuck would you tell Uncle Bobby about Cas anyways?”

“I told you, Dean, he doesn’t know you and Cas are seeing each other. He just thinks Cas is a friend you met working with the horses. Which is true.”

Dean angrily jabs a finger in Sam’s direction. “You shouldn’t be saying anything. At all. Fuck.” He whirls around, wanting to punch something but desperately trying not to make it his brother’s face. “I thought you said you’d let me tell him.”

“I did. And I will. God, Dean. Why are you so uptight about this? A, it’s Uncle Bobby. Who knows.  _ Everything _ . He’s the one you called after, for crying out loud! And B, are you ashamed of Cas or something? ‘Cause if you are maybe you need to reevaluate some shit.”

Dean blinks. Ashamed of Cas? Not even close. He feels his anger drain away, one mood extreme to the other, as usual. “No, Sam. I’m not ashamed of Cas, okay? That’s...that’s not even fucking possible.” He pulls out a kitchen chair and sits down with a thud. “It’s just that it’s something private. Something about me, and I just want the ability to decide for myself who knows, that’s all.” 

A look of understanding dawns on Sam’s face. “Ah. I get it.” He sits down across from Dean. “Well, Uncle Bobby  _ doesn’t  _ know. That’s still up to you to tell him. He just knows that you have a friend, who’s a guy, who will probably be over at some point while he’s here.” 

Great. Won’t that be fun. Dean can just see it now...Oh, by the way, Uncle Bobby, I’m bi and I still like dick after everything that’s happened. Surprise!

~*~*~*~*~

“So how are you related to Dean and Sam, Bobby?” Castiel asks, curiosity coloring his voice.

“My wife, Karen, may she rest in peace, was their daddy’s sister. After Karen died, I lost touch with the rest of the family for a few years. It wasn’t until a couple years back that I reconnected with the boys.” Bobby replies as he scratches his beard.

“I see. So you knew Dean when he was a child, then?” Cas asks eagerly.

Dean can read the wicked amusement in his uncle’s eyes. He holds up a hand and points at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Uncle Bobby chortles. “Oh, I have some stories I could tell you about him, for sure. But I’m pretty sure I would have to watch over my shoulder for the rest of my life if I tried.”

Damn straight. Cas looks disappointed, but Dean isn’t willing to let his uncle embarrass him, disappointed boyfriend or not. Crisis averted. Dean takes a large gulp of his beer.

“So when did you two get together?”

Dean chokes, and beer spills down over his chin and onto his shirt. He ignores it and gapes at his uncle. How…?

“Oh, fairly recently,” Castiel replies with a nonchalant shrug. “It took me a bit to get up the nerve, but I guess you could say I danced around the issue for a couple weeks.”

Uncle Bobby is grinning madly and winks over at Dean from under his trucker cap. “Well, maybe I’ll trade you stories. You tell me how you managed to wrangle this one in, and maybe later I’ll tell you all about the time I caught Dean teaching Sam the dance to a Spice Girls song.”

“Uncle Bobby…!” Fuck this! Dean excuses himself to go to the bathroom and clean up, and it’s all he can do not to run down the hallway and slam the door behind him. Once he’s in there, he locks the door and leans against the sink. 

Shit, this is so damn awkward. And embarrassing. Fucking hell… Dean turns on the tap and scrubs water on his face before snatching up the white fluffy towel and attempting to dry his shirt. He probably should just go grab a new one... He should have known that Uncle Bobby would be able to tell as soon as he met Castiel. That old man is way too fucking observant. Not that Dean ever even pictured coming out to his uncle - honestly, that’s something he would have been cool with his Uncle Bobby never knowing - , but if he did, this would certainly not be how it happened. 

But it did. And now they’re out there swapping stories...Dean just wants the ground to swallow him up. He heads across the hall and pulls out a different t-shirt, one of his old Van Halen ones. He pulls it over his head, and taking a deep breath heads back towards the living room. Ready to face the music...

Dean is almost at the kitchen when he stops. Uncle Bobby and Cas are talking in low voices in the other room. He holds his breath and listens.

“I like you, Cas, I really do.” Uncle Bobby’s saying. “But you listen to me, and you listen up good. That boy has been through more than anyone should ever have to go through, and if I hear one word, one  _ whisper _ , that you have hurt him, then I will hunt you down and make you regret the day you ever laid eyes on him. Do you understand?” Oh Jesus, Uncle Bobby…

“I understand completely, Bobby. I will do everything in my power to never hurt Dean. I care for him deeply.” A sigh. “It breaks my heart, what he has been through, and I am grateful that he has people like you in his life to look out for him. It means a lot to me. And to him, as well.”

Uncle Bobby grunts, and Dean can picture the look on his face. That whole ‘too gruff to show emotion but my eyes are watering’ thing he has going on sometimes. Oi. Before the two men in the living room can get too in touch with their feminine side, Dean sneaks back into the hallway a bit and cough loudly, alerting them that he is coming. He walks into the living room, and Uncle Bobby at least has the decency to look sheepish. Yeah, on to you, old man. Dean looks between the two of them. “Am I interrupting anything?” he asks with a raised brow.

Before either of them can say anything, Sam walks through the front door, and the smell of fresh pizza fills the air. “Dinner’s here!” he calls, stepping into the living room with a wide smile on his face.

Cas and Uncle Bobby sniff the air, and Dean can practically see their mouths watering. Good, let the pizza distract those damn gossip girls. 

Sam shoves the hot pizza boxes into Dean’s hands. “Here. Get it ready. I’m gonna go wash up.”

Dean looks down at the pizza boxes that he’s suddenly carrying and up at the two men on the couch. He shrugs his shoulders. “Well,” he says. “Dinner is served.”

~*~*~*~*~

Cas’s truck pulls up in Dean’s driveway, and Dean smiles broadly and waves through the window. He looks over to where Sam and Uncle Bobby are sitting having their coffee. “Well, I’ll see you guys later,” he says, snatching up a cookie from the plate on the table and shoving it in his mouth. He pauses then grabs one for Cas too. The guy has a sweet tooth worse than Dean’s…And that is sayin’ something.

“Later, Dean. Have fun.”

“See ya, kid.”

Dean closes the front door behind him and head down to Cas’s truck, opening the door and hopping up into the cab. He hands the cookie over to Cas. “Here,” he says. Cas’s eyes light up like it’s he’s a kid on Christmas. Dean chuckles. It’s a freakin’ cookie, for crying out loud. 

“Thank you!” He takes a large bite before they back out of the driveway. “Oh. Oh that is  _ heavenly _ …” he groans.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “You want me to get out and give you some alone time with that cookie, Cas?”

Cas looks over at him. “Maybe,” he says around a mouthful of chocolate-y chip goodness. “But I don’t mind if you watch.” He grins at Dean then swallows and then licks his lips. Slowly. 

Dean’s eyes widen slightly as they follow the path of that tongue. He licks his own lips in response. He takes a deep breath. God, he wants to kiss him. But not here. Not in the cab of the truck and sitting in the driveway, where he is pretty sure his uncle and his brother can see them. He clears his throat. “We should, uhh...get going,” he says.

Cas laughs and throws the truck into gear, pulling out of the drive and heading down the road. “I was thinking after you finish riding Tonka we could maybe spend some time with my ladies?” he asks hopefully. 

Dean shrugs and looks out the window at the passing scenery. “Sure,” he replies. “I got nothing else to do today.” Truth is, he kind of likes that Rebel horse. She has personality. 

“I’m hoping that I can get Rebel halter broke soon. She’s almost at the age where she needs to be weaned.”

Dean looks over at Cas. He has one hand on the steering wheel and is resting the other out the driver’s window. He looks so relaxed and happy that it makes him smile. “What are you gonna do with her?” he asks after a moment.

Now it’s Cas’s turn to shrug. “Well, I would  _ like _ to keep her, but I don’t have time for two horses, plus helping out with the therapy program. So we’ll see what happens when I get her weaned. I bred Thunder because I knew her foal would probably get me a good amount of money, but I didn’t expect to like Rebel so much.”

Dean kind of hopes he keeps her. But two horses would be a lot for one guy to work with. “Yeah, I get that.” A sudden thought pops into Dean’s head. “Hey, how come you never have anyone else you help Ellen out with?” He asks. 

Cas glances over at him as they make the turn down the road that leads them to the farm. “Each volunteer helps with one patient. In this particular program, even each therapist only has one or two. It lets them focus on their clinic as well as the equine therapy. I was just lucky enough to get you.” Cas reaches his hand over to rest it on Dean’s knee.

Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own. “Oh. I don’t know if lucky is the word I would use,” he mutters.

“I’m not even going to honour that with a response,” Cas replies. 

They pull into the farm and Cas parks the car. Dean goes to open his door, but is stopped by a tug on his hand. He turns to Cas with a question in his eyes. Cas raises Dean’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of his hand gently. Dean flushes. He’s not a girl, dammit. But when Cas lets him go - after a few more gentle kisses - Dean is grinning stupidly. 

“We’d better get in there before Ellen comes looking for us,” Cas murmurs. 

“Yeah…” Dean waits until Cas climbs out of the truck, before collecting himself and following his...yes, he can say it, his  _ boyfriend _ into the barn.

“Want to come grab Tonka with me?” Cas asks as he picks up the halter and lead.

“Sure.”

They head toward the horse pasture just as Ellen is pulling up. They wave at her so she sees them and continue on their way. Dean is lost in thought. His mind keeps drifting back to the feel of Cas’s lips on his skin. He comes to a decision as they approach Tonka. He stops. “Cas.”

When the other man turns around, Dean grabs him by the shirt and pulls him in. He pushes down any apprehension he feels - he  _ needs _ this, dammit - and their lips meet in a crushing kiss.

Cas doesn’t respond for a moment, and Dean almost pulls away, thinking  _ he  _ of all people moved too quickly, but then Cas moans against his mouth and deepens the kiss, dropping the halter and lead and bringing his hands up to cup Dean’s cheeks gently.

Dean closes his eyes to savour the moment. He feels Cas’s slight stubble against his chin, his cotton t-shirt in his fingers, and best of all Cas tastes like chocolate chip cookies. 

When they finally break apart - seconds, minutes,  _ hours _ later - Dean is quivering, and he’s not sure if it’s from nerves or what, but he stares at Cas, at his swollen kiss-slicked lips, and swallows heavily against his suddenly dry throat. Their first kiss was everything Dean had thought it would be, and more. 

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s face. “Dean,” he breathes. He leans forward and places another kiss, this one gentle and chaste, on Dean’s lips. “I have wanted that for so long.”

Dean scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, actually me too,” he chuckles nervously. “Just was a little, umm…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Cas replies. 

Dean looks over Cas’s shoulder and raises his eyebrows. “Looks like we had an audience,” he says with a grin. Tonka is right behind Cas, who knows when the hell he came up, and is looking at the two of them with large brown eyes. 

Cas turns and snorts. “Peeping Tom-ka,” he says with a laugh as he pats the horse on the neck. “That’s what we should call you.” He bends and picks up the halter and lead, putting it on Tonka’s head. “Come on, you big peeper. Let’s get you saddled so Dean can ride you.”

They turn and head back the way they came, Tonka following along placidly, and Dean can’t help the glowing smile that remains on his face the whole way back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean hauls the saddle up and places it gently on top of the pad. He steps back and looks at it critically. It’s in the right spot...right? Or is it too far down? He looks over at Ellen, who smiles and nods at him. Cool. He gingerly reaches under Tonka’s belly for the strap. He’s still kind of nervous being this close to the underside of a horse, even though nothing has happened in the weeks he’s been doing this, but Tonka doesn’t seem to even notice. 

He fumbles with the straps, but stubbornly doesn’t ask for help. Eventually he manages to get the saddle buckled up and tightened, and he gives Tonka a firm pat on the neck, and then he slips the headstall onto Tonka’s head, smiling as the horse opens his mouth obediently.  “Ready, bud?” he whispers.

“Okay, Dean,” Ellen says from where she is watching him in the aisle. “Let’s get to the arena. Remember, I’m not going to be giving you any instruction today. This one is all you.  _ You’re _ in control. I’ll still be there if you need anything, and Castiel will be too, but for all intents and purposes, it’s just you and Tonka in there.”

Dean nods. He’s got this. They make their way into the arena, Ellen and Cas moving off to stand at the side, and Dean and Tonka head into the centre. He stares for a moment at the stirrups and blows out a long breath. He grasps the saddle horn just like Ellen taught him, and stretches his leg up to rest his foot in the stirrup. He’s done this quite a few times by now, but each and every time he does, he’s simply  _ amazed _ that his legs are able to bend this way. 

One bounce. Two bounce. And up into the saddle he goes. Dean’s gotten the hang of not landing like a giant sack of potatoes on the poor horse’s back, and he gently lowers himself until he’s settled. After a quick glance at the two standing along the rail, he grips the reins in his slightly sweaty palms and nudges Tonka forward with his heels. 

They walk to the other end of the arena, and Dean focuses on his balance in the saddle. When they reach the end, Dean chews on his lower lip as he ponders what to do next. It’s all up to him. Like Ellen said,  _ he’s _ the one in control, and it makes him feel good. Stable. He urges Tonka into a fast trot, and curses as he damn near gets bounced out of the saddle. Goddamn! This is the worst one! After an unsteady minute in which Dean is pretty certain his nuts have been flattened like a freakin’ pancake, he manages to get the rhythm of the movement. Up, down. Up, down. They trot around the arena, and Cas and Ellen have huge smiles on their faces when they pass by. Dean would smile back, but he’s too focused on not losing the pattern. Up, down. Up, down.

After a couple passes around, Dean takes a deep breath. Okay. Let’s do this. He squeezes his heels into the side of the horse, and Tonka bounds forward into a lope. Dean  _ almost _ yelps, but maintains his dignity and manages to stay quiet. The lope is much smoother than the trot was, and Dean easily slips into the movement of the rocking gait. This time, when he passes Cas and Ellen, he is comfortable enough to look over at them and smile proudly.

With every smooth step, it’s almost like Dean can feel the weight lifting off of his shoulders in increments. He feels free, and the knowledge that the massive beast underneath him trusts him, is willing to allow Dean the control he has been lacking for the past year, liberates him. 

He sits back and slows Tonka to a stop. He reaches forward with on hand and lightly grasps the black mane in front of him. “Thank-you,” he murmurs. “Thank-you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They let Tonka go and watch him drop into the grass and roll. Geez, for such a big animal he is pretty spry. He stands and shakes himself off before trotting away to join his buddies out in the pasture.

“I’m hoping one day soon, when you’re more confident at riding and Rebel is halter broke and weaned, we can go on a trail ride together,” Cas says quietly beside Dean.

“Trail ride, huh?” Dean turns and looks at Cas. “Sounds kind of fun, I guess.” As long as the trail is flat, at least. Dean’s not sure how he feels about attempting any hills on a horse. Memories of watching  _ A Man From Snowy River _ with his brother creep into his head. Nope. No hills at all, thank you very much!

Cas grins and hooks his arms over the white fence board. “I have a perfect trail in mind. And maybe we could do a picnic or something. And swim at the swimming hole. And camp out under the stars…”

Woah woah woah… “Cas, this is sounding a lot more like some sort of weekend adventure on horseback then a simple trail ride.” Cas looks crestfallen, and Dean shakes his head. “I don’t mean that it’s something we can’t  _ ever _ do. But uhh...baby steps, remember? Besides, I can barely sit on a horse for more than thirty minutes before feeling like my legs are going to fall off. Let’s work our way up to that, ‘kay?” Cas nods, looking a little happier, and Dean elbows him playfully. “Now, let’s go get those lovely ladies of yours, and then we can go have a nice dinner or something.”

They easily catch Thunder - Rebel, of course, following her mother - and once again head to the same outdoor arena that Cas rode his horse in before. And again, just like before, Cas doesn’t have a saddle. Honestly, if thoughts of sex didn’t make Dean want to flip out, he would be making some sort of bareback joke by now…

When Cas leads Thunder away, Rebel gives a tiny squeal of indignation, but stays where she is. “Hey, easy there, girl.” Dean says. “Don’t you like spending time with me?” He holds his hand out and she snuffles at it, but he pulls back sharply when her soft lips close over his fingers. “Hey now! None of that!” Fuck, getting bit would  _ hurt _ . 

Rebel strains her neck to keep reaching Dean’s hand. He takes a step back, and she follows on those long legs of hers. “I don’t have anything for you,” he says. She doesn’t seem to care though, and once again steps towards him when he takes yet another step backwards.

He glances down, and sees some blades of long green grass at the post near his feet. He tugs them up, roots and all, and holds them out to her. She mouths at them, but doesn’t eat them. They fall onto the dirt of the arena.

Dean glances over to where Cas is busy working with Thunder at the far end of the ring. He seems occupied, and isn’t paying attention to Dean and the foal. Dean tugs up another handful of grass, stepping back and holding them out once more. This time Rebel grabs the whole lot, and tosses her white and tan head up and down, sprinkling the two of them with grass blades. 

She stops suddenly, a single long blade hanging out of the corner of her mouth like she was a farmhand. Dean laughs and Rebel stares at him, lower lip quivering and nostrils flaring, making the blade of grass dance. “You’re pretty fuckin’ awesome, you know that?” Dean says as he watches her. 

She snorts and lowers her head, lipping up the blades that had fallen and chewing them slowly. Her white and tan coat quivers, sending dust motes sparkling into the air. Dean watches her, feeling contentment ease through him.

He takes another couple steps. He’s just going to grab more grass from the longer section a couple fence panels down, and he figures the lead is long enough that he will be able to do so. But when Rebel steps forward and follows him, he stops and stares. She did it again…

Dean turns away from the fence and tries walking closer to the middle of the arena and shaking his head in disbelief when the little horse comes with him. He looks over at Castiel. The other man has stopped what he is doing and is leaning forward on Thunder’s neck, also watching, with a big smile across his face. Cas gives him a thumbs up. 

He regards the little one in front of him now, and she blinks slowly back at him. He feels a deep sense of accomplishment when he realises just how far she had followed him. Man, not even Cas could do that! 

Castiel trots up on Thunder and easily slides off her back. “Dean!” He’s beaming. “You led her! That’s wonderful! You’re the next Buck Brannaman!”

Who the fuck is Buck Brannaman? “Uhh...who?”

“You know, the horse whisperer…” Cas trails off with a slightly disappointed look. “Oh, Dean. You’ve never seen  _ Buck _ ? Oh. Oh my. We have to watch that! We can watch it tonight! I can pick up chips and cookies!”

“Uhhh...sure, Cas, whatever you want.” Dean’s willing to put up with watching some weird movie if it gets Cas this excited. 

“But really, Dean. That you were able to lead her around is incredible. She has never, and I mean  _ never _ , followed me on the lead. She fights me every step of the way.” And then to demonstrate, Cas takes the lead from Dean and hands him Thunder’s reins. He steps back, cooing gently at Rebel. Who stands there. And. Does. Not. Move. Cas does her best to coax her forward, but she just seems content to stay exactly where she is. 

As much as Dean cares for Castiel, it is pretty damn awesome to be able to do something with the horses that he can’t do. Part of Dean, probably the big brother part, wants to do a happy little dance and wave it in Cas’s face. Boom! The other part wants to pull him in and wipe that slightly upset look off his face with a kiss. That’s the part that wins.

“Come ‘ere,” he snags Castiel by the wrist and drags him forward, pressing their lips together. 

Cas groans and licks Dean’s full lips when he finally pulls away. They are both a little breathless now, and then Cas grins. “You are amazing, you know that?” he murmurs.

Pfft. But Dean can’t hide the small smile that escapes at those words. Maybe he can start to believe that. Maybe…

“Come on, let’s put these two away and get back to my place, we have a movie to watch!”

Dean rolls his eyes. Yeah, yeah. “So I never asked you, but when did you get Thunder? You two seem to have a really good connection,” he asks Cas as they take the horses out of the arena. 

The smile Castiel gives him is a little sad, and a lot wistful. “I used to compete with her in reining.” Dean’s brows furrow. Reining? What is that? Cas must see his look because he gives a little chuckle. “It’s a form of western riding competition. It is like dancing...Beautiful to watch, and even better to ride. You saw me do a bit of it with Thunder earlier when I was spinning her.”

“Ah,” Dean nods. That was actually really awesome. 

“Anyways, before she was my horse, she belonged to my friend. The same one who owns the stallion I bred her to, actually. He was looking after her for me until a spot opened up here. I just used her to compete with. One day, we were out on the trails near my friend’s house. A storm hit out of nowhere. The sky was blue, and then ten minutes later it was black, and Thunder and I were too far away to get back fast enough to get out. I don’t really remember what happened. One minute we are loping down the trail, next thing I knew I woke up on the ground. She stayed right beside me, even though she was scared with the storm.”

“Wow. That’s really something.” Dean looks over at Thunder with a newfound respect. 

“Yes. I had broken a rib and dislocated my shoulder when I fell. It was rather uncomfortable.” Cas looks down at his shoulder and frowns. “The shoulder still gives me grief once in a while.”

Dean winces in sympathy. He’s broken a couple bones over the years, and dislocated his wrist, too. Not fun. “So how’d you get back?”

“Slowly,” Cas replies with a grin.

Geez. “So you got back on her, even after such a crazy ass fall?” Dean shakes his head in wonderment. No way in the history of ways would  _ he _ get back on.

“Of course!” Cas tilts his head and does the squinty eyed look. “Dean, just because something happened and I fell off does not mean I should be scared of getting back on. It happens, sometimes. It wasn’t like Thunder meant to hurt me.”

Dean purses his lips. Once again, he feels like Cas is referring to more than just riding horses. He chews the inside of his lip thoughtfully. Food for thought later...But right now, that shit is way too deep...“Why don’t you compete anymore?”

A shrug. “Honestly? I think I had competed to prove something to myself. That I could, and I could win. And I did win, many times, and after I just didn’t feel like I had to do that anymore.”

“Huh. Think you’ll ever try again?”

“Maybe...one day. The option is open to me if I decide to. But I think I have found other things in my life I wish to focus on right now.” Castiel replies with a pointed look in Dean’s direction. Yeah, alright. Dean gets the hint. He smiles at Cas, and the answering smile is warm, crinkling the gentle laugh lines around Cas’s eyes. “But after that fall, and seeing how she stayed beside me, my friend said we had such a great bond together, that he ended up giving her to me.”

Dean claps him on the back. “Great friend you have,” he says. 

Cas nods solemnly. “Yes. I am quite fortunate to have such wonderful people around me.”

 


	10. Chapter Ten

###  Chapter Ten 

A couple of weeks later, Dean and Cas are sitting on Cas’s couch watching a movie. It’s come to be a tradition of sorts with the two of them. Go to the stables. Watch a movie. It’s Dean’s turn to pick this time, so naturally they are watching  _ The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly _ . ‘Cause seriously, who the fuck doesn’t like Clint Eastwood? Also, Cas needs to really expand his movie knowledge. Dean couldn’t believe his ears when Cas had told him that he had never once seen a Clint Eastwood movie, and had proceeded to list off why Clint Eastwood is God’s gift to movies. So here they are, watching the best one, ‘cause it’s important to get off on the right foot, so to speak.

They are just getting to the showdown scene, and Dean looks over to see Castiel’s reaction. Instead of seeing the other man’s eyes glued to the screen in rapt attention as they  _ should _ be, Cas is watching him instead, a lustful look on his face. 

“What?” Dean asks, wrinkling his nose. This is the best scene, dammit! 

“I find the way that you are so engaged in this movie to be incredibly...sexy.”

Ookay. Dean picks up the remote from the table and hits pause. Turning to Cas, he holds up a finger. “Cas, I appreciate that, but let me explain something about Clint Eastwood to you. He is incredible, and you need to watch this part of the movie to fully understand.” He pats Cas on the shoulder and stands up. “Now, I’m gonna go get us a couple of more beers, and then you are gonna pay attention and watch the movie, and then when  _ that _ ’s done, you can tell me all ‘bout how sexy I am.” 

He heads into the kitchen and grabs two bottle of beer, all the while shaking his head at how strange Cas is. He steps out of the kitchen, only to stop when he sees Cas turning off the television. 

“What the hell, Cas?” He did  _ not _ just do that to Clint!

Cas turns and looks at Dean. “I fear that I will not be able to focus on the movie right now.”

Oh? “And why is that?” Dean asks. Although he has a pretty good guess based on the way Cas is looking at him. Okay. Maybe the movie can wait. Can’t have Cas focused on something else, after all.

Instead of answering, Castiel steps forward and grasps Dean’s hand in his own warm one, reeling him in for a kiss. Dean is only too happy to accomodate.

When they finally pull apart, Cas clumsily tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt, and Dean obligingly holds his arms up. Cas pulls it over his head and tosses it to the floor, and then his hands are running over Dean’s now bare chest reverently. Dean shuffles his feet, not used to the attention Castiel is lavishing upon him. He pushes the other man away, and raises an eyebrow at the pout that appears. Cute. 

“Not fair if I’m the only one without a shirt on, Cas,” he points out.

“Ah.” Cas pulls his own shirt off, and it joins Dean’s in a flash. “Better?”

Oh, hell yes. “Better,” Dean agrees fervently.  

“Good. Now, please do not make me wait any longer.”

Cas lets him take control, for which Dean is grateful. He pushes Cas against the wall, shaking the bookshelf as he does, clutching the cords of muscle on his shoulders. He savours the taste of Cas on his lips, and the other man moans hungrily into his mouth in a wordless response. 

“God, Cas,” he murmurs as he pulls back slightly. He bends his head further and licks a small line across the stubble of his jaw. “I don’t deserve you.”

Now it is Cas’s turn to pull back. He cups Dean’s chin in his hands and stares unerringly into his eyes. “Dean, you deserve the world. You are the strongest person I have ever met, and I just wish you could see that about yourself.” He doesn’t say anything else, but the conviction in his voice is startling. 

Dean gives an awkward laugh, but it quickly dies and he has to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat and has to close his eyes. Cas’s slightly chapped lips press once more against his own, before he falls to his knees. Dean’s eyes fly open and his breath catches in his throat as those blue eyes look up through thick, black lashes at him. Jesus. Cas is so damn…  _ Jesus _ . 

“Dean,” Cas pleads. “Let me…Please.” He reaches up and tentatively puts his hands on Dean’s belt, causing him to jerk back and grab Castiel’s wrist in a bone crushing grip. “Dean.” His voice is soft, and slides through Dean, pulling him out of the past and back into the present.

Dean breathes in sharply through his nose. It’s Cas. It’s  _ Cascascas _ … This is something he needs to do. Dean had long ago fallen off the damn horse. Now it’s time to try getting back on. He takes a deep breath and nods. 

“Oh, Dean. You are so incredible. You’re amazing. You’re wonderful…” Cas keeps up a constant hum of words and praise as he ever so slowly unbuckles the belt. It works to keep Dean grounded. It’s Cas. It’s not  _ him _ . It’s Cas…Cas finally gets the belt undone, and slips Dean’s jeans down over his hips. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here and I won’t do anything you don’t want. I promise.”

Dean feels Castiel’s warm breath ghost over his boxer-clad cock, and shivers run up and down his spine, but for once they aren’t caused by fear, but anticipation. Back on the horse...back on the horse...He keeps his eyes locked on Cas’s, anchoring him. Steadying him.  

But the second his boxers are pulled off, Dean feels his panic closing in, circling him like a predator does its prey. He opens his mouth to ask Cas to stop, but he must have sensed how pathetic Dean is, because the in the next moment Cas is standing and guiding Dean, easing him down onto the softened black leather of the couch. Oh...When did his pants get pulled up?

Dean takes a shuddering breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. Shit. “Sorry Cas,” he says. His voice shakes, and he clears his throat with a shake of his head. 

“It is alright. We are probably moving too quickly.” Cas moves to get his t-shirt from where it had been discarded on the floor. 

Dean straightens. They can’t freakin’ stop now! He  _ has _ to do this. He has something to prove, if not to his boyfriend, then certainly to himself. “Cas, wait.” Cas pauses, t-shirt in hand. “That was just a little setback, is all. I  _ am  _ ready, okay? For...well, not sex, but... We just...” He wrings his hands in his lap and grimaces. God, he’s practically stuttering. Loser. With a capital L. “Just...I wanna try again, alright? Look, it helped. When, uhh...when you were talking to me. If you could…”

Cas stares at him for a minute, eyes understanding under that messy mop of black hair. Ever so slowly he lowers his arms, dropping the shirt back into a puddle on the floor. “What do you want, Dean? I need you to tell me what you are ready to try.”

“Maybe just...I want...” Dean can feel the heat in his face as he tries to spit out the words that anyone else would be able to say. Just not him apparently. He angrily swipes at his eyes. “I want you, Cas.”

Cas moves to crouch in front of the couch, resting a hand on his knee, which he just now realizes is shaking up and down in nervousness. The other man gently puts a warm hand on it, stilling the movement. “You control this, Dean,” he says softly. “You.”

Dean sucks in his breath and nods. Yeah, okay. “C’mere,” he motions to Castiel with one hand, pulling him in and flipping the two of them over. He can’t handle being underneath right now. Maybe one day, but not right now. But what he  _ can _ do right now is have a little fun. And he intends to.

Cas’s breath rushes out of him as Dean straddles him, and Dean grins, before grinding down hard. Beneath him, Cas’s eyes darken with lust. “Like that?” he asks, as he leans over and nibbles a line up Castiel’s throat before suckling at his pulse point. He can feel Cas’s heart pounding his blood through his veins as he nips at the skin. 

“Oh, Dean, yes!” Cas pants. 

Dean can tell that Cas is desperately wanting to come but is holding himself back. More than anything, Dean wants to gives Cas this. Not just because Cas  _ deserves _ it, but because Dean finds himself actually wanting to see what Cas is like when he comes. What face he makes. The sounds he might make. Will he squirm? Dean wants to know, and so he grinds down. The feel of Cas’s hard length against him makes him flush deeply, but the sharp gasp the other man releases is worth it.

With effort, Dean tears his eyes away from the other man and looks down between them. He can see the hard line of Castiel’s cock tenting his sweatpants, and Dean feels a little surge of pride, knowing that’s because of him. It feels nice, this proud feeling. He sits up enough to pull out his belt, not wanting the buckle to rub between them, and then lowers himself back down. When he rocks his hips back and forth, Cas’s eyelids flutter shut and Dean can see small beads of sweat break out on his forehead. “Please…” Cas whispers. Desperation snakes into his voice, and Dean both loves and hates the sound at the same time. 

When Cas thrusts his own hips up, Dean can feel the encroaching flashback trying to creep in, bastard that it is, but he forces it down. No, fuck that. No more damn panic attacks. He focuses on the breathy moans Cas is making, feeling his own breaths almost match, and raises his hips a bit. He shakily reaches between them with the hand not holding him up and palms Cas’s cock through his pants. He bites his lower lip hard enough that he is pretty sure he might have drawn blood, but he barely notices. His hands feel clumsy as he works his palm over the hot, hard length of Castiel, and he’s really not sure if he’s doing this right.

But when Cas’s hips jerk erratically and Cas’s hands fist the cushions underneath, he figures he managed to somehow get it. Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’s release underneath his hand, and he draws it away quickly. His face reddens at the show of anxiety, but Castiel has his eyes closed and does not appear to notice.

Cas is panting, forehead glistening, and he cracks an eye open and looks up at Dean, who cocks an eyebrow back at him. “That was…” He trails off with a groan, wetting his lips. 

Dean wants to kiss him, so he does. Pulling away after a minute, he grins. “That was…?” he prompts. “Awesome? Amazing? The best time of your life?”

“Mmm,” Cas rolls his neck, vertebrae popping loudly. “All of the above,” he agrees, nodding solemnly. He pulls Dean down for another kiss, and Dean is only too happy to oblige. He  _ likes _ kissing. Kissing Cas is awesome.

When they finally pull apart - too damn soon, if Dean has an opinion - Cas’s lips are swollen and slick, and Dean can’t tear his eyes away. He looks so freaking good right now. “Cas…” he murmurs. God, he’s so damn grateful that Cas is in his life...

“Do I get a turn now?” Cas asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t you want to, I don’t know, clean up first?” He motions to Cas’s groin, which is already looking a little damp. That can  _ not _ be comfortable.

“No. That can wait. Let me, Dean.” Cas’s eyes are wide, the blue in them almost drowned out by the blown pupils. “I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

Jesus, the guy is practically begging. How can Dean say no to that? Dean shrugs and glances away. “You can try,” he says quietly. Hasn’t worked for Dean so far, but maybe Cas’ll have better luck. Unlikely, but hey, one can dream. Dean pushes himself up, letting Cas climb out from underneath him.

“How do you want me to try?”

Dean huffs out a breath. “Fuck, I don’t know. Just...do what feels right, I guess. I’ll stop you if it’s too much.” 

Cas stares at him a moment before once again kneeling on the floor in front of Dean, in a repeat of their earlier attempt. Instead of immediately pulling down Dean’s jeans this time, though, he just raises his hand and lightly strokes Dean’s cock through the denim. 

Dean clears his throat awkwardly. “Gonna have t’ get at it more than that,” he says, scratching at his nose. He grips the top of his jeans and pulls them down, leaving his boxers on. He should have worn sweatpants like Cas. The stiffness of denim is not exactly the best for any kind of...making out. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, though. Or so they say.

With a smile up at him, Cas leans forward and gently but firmly wraps his long fingers as best he can around Dean, causing him to gasp slightly. Hot damn...Cas’s hand moves up and down, alternating between heavier pressure and gentle feather-like touches. 

“Cas…” Dean’s breath catches in his throat. It feels good, real good, and guilt briefly flashes through him at the feeling. The conflicting emotions war for dominance, until he manages to push the guilt aside. Turns out it doesn’t seem to matter though. Because despite Cas’s ministrations, his cock is only half hard. “Cas, I...I haven’t...It hasn’t really worked right…” Dean swallows and flushes, unable to look Cas in the eye any more. Oh god, this is so fuckin’ embarassing. How does one explain to their boyfriend that he can’t even get it up? Christ on a stick... 

Cas’s blue eyes widen in horrified understanding. “Oh...Oh, Dean…” 

God, here we go...all aboard the pity bus, once again. Frowning bitterly, Dean shrugs a shoulder. “What can I say? My dick is as broken as I am,” he mutters.

“Dean, you are  _ not _ broken, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, well, tell that to this fucker.” He points at his cock angrily. “Fine! I  _ know _ I’m getting better, Cas. Fuck! No way in Hell I would’ve been able to do this even a month ago! There’s just...I dunno, some sort of a block or something.”

“Do you know why?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. Yes. “No.” He replies shortly, unable to look Cas in the eyes. 

Cas wrinkles his nose. “I wish you would not lie to me,” he says with a sigh. There is no trace of anger in his voice, just some sort of weird cross between sadness and petulance. Well fuck.

Dean takes a deep breath. Okay. He can do this. Cas deserves it, after all. “Umm… I think it’s because of, well…” He scratches his chin and stares at a point over Cas’s shoulder. “When he...I mean I... When I came…Yeah. I guess that’s it.” There. That wasn’t so bad. Well, it  _ was _ , but when compared to a lot of shit that’s happened, it barely stacks up. He watches as Cas rocks back on his heels and chews on his lower lip. The other man does not look surprised in the least, which Dean finds surprising himself. Hooray…

“Okay, then.” Cas pats Dean’s knee like he’s some sort of freakin’ child, and maybe in this he is, and pushes himself up. 

Wait...Okay, then? That’s it? What the heck? Dean’s eyebrows furrow as he stands up as well. “So you’re  _ okay _ with this?” He asks incredulously. “‘Cause I’ll tell ya right now, Cas,  _ I’m _ not. I hoped that it would work for you, but apparently it won’t, and all you have to say is ‘okay, then’?”

“This is a common reaction for someone who went through what you have experienced, Dean. I am in no way upset, and I truly feel that this is a hurdle you - _ we _ \- will overcome.”

Oh, fucking hell. Cas is speaking to him like Ellen. And Sam.  _ Not  _ something he wants his boyfriend to do. “Where the fuck did you hear that?” he asks.

Cas shrugs one shoulder. For a minute he doesn’t say anything, just bends to collect their clothes. He holds Dean’s out for him, like some sort of weird peace offering. “I did some reading after I found out what happened to you. Please don’t be upset. I just had no idea what to expect, and I want to make this work, so I had know.”

Dean is sullen as he takes the proffered clothes. “Could’ve just asked,” he mutters. But he’s not upset. Not at Cas, anyways. Actually, a part of him is warm at the thought that Castiel actually cared enough to do that. He tugs his jeans on with a sigh. “Sorry, Cas.” He lets that hang there, not elaborating on what he is sorry for, letting Cas interpret it how he will.

And apparently Cas interprets it as Dean needs ice cream right the fuck now, because he gives Dean a look and hauls him into the kitchen, pushing him into a chair before he begins hauling out bowls, spoons, and all manner of ice cream.

Dean is so taken aback that for a full minute he can’t say anything, just stares at the now heaping table. 

“Eat,” Cas urges, placing a bowl filled to the brim with a mixture of strawberry and vanilla ice cream. He scoops his own portion into a bowl and sits down across from Dean. “Ice cream makes everything better, I promise.” He licks the spoon, and an orgasmic look similar to the one Dean drew from him earlier crosses his face. Dean isn’t sure whether or not he is insulted that ice cream can move Cas into bliss-filled happiness or...kind of turned on. Maybe turned on...Huh.

Dean smirks a bit before taking his own bite. It’d be better with pie, but hey, he  _ is _ feeling better when they finish. After he scoops the last melted spoonful into his mouth, he points the spoon at Cas. “You know this is a total chick thing to do, right? The sitting around eating ice cream when you’re sad?”

Cas shrugs, and his tongue darts out to lick a bit of vanilla from the corner of his mouth. “So? Did it work?”

Dean rolls his eyes but can’t help the smile. Yeah. It worked.

~*~*~*~

Morning comes early, birds chirping happily through the window that Cas must’ve cracked at some point in the night. Dean wakes up with a groan. “Fuckin’ birds,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Go tell them to shut up…”

Cas chuckles beside him. “I like the birds. I find them relaxing.” Yeah. He would. “I’m going to go put coffee on. Why don’t you lay here and relax, and I’ll bring you some when it’s ready?”

“Mmm. Cas, you’re a fucking angel.” Dean feels Castiel get out of bed and leave the room. Under the annoying squawking he can kind of hear the sounds of coffee being made. He shoves his head under his pillow and closes his eyes again. 

Sleep must’ve claimed him again, birds notwithstanding, because the next thing he knows, Cas is back with two steaming hot mugs of coffee in his hand, calling Dean’s name from beside the bed.

Dean sits up with a stretch, taking the cup with a grateful smile. “Thanks,” he yawns and takes a sip. Damn, that’s some good coffee. He makes a mental note to check and see where it’s from. 

Cas settles onto the bed with his own mug in hand, turning the television on quietly and flicking it to the start of some sort of paid programming shit. At Dean’s look, he grins sheepishly. “The news is on after this.” He takes a sip of his coffee and settles in to watch.

Dean snorts in amusement. So Cas likes infomercials, huh? He shrugs and drinks more of this yummy coffee. It’s gone all too soon, and Dean debates getting up for more. But he’s hella comfy, and Cas is a warm presence at his side. He shifts and puffs a pillow up at his back, before leaning back into it and closing his eyes, listening to Castiel’s amusing ooh’s and ahh’s at the weird crap being sold on television.

When Dean feels fingers running over his bare skin, he cracks an eye open to see what’s happening. “Cas?” Dean asks. The noise of the television is quieter in the background, now. The infomercial must be over. Geez, did he fall asleep  _ again _ ?

“Hmmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Tracing your freckles.”

Freckles? Oh lord. “Seriously?” Dean pushes himself up onto one elbow and stares down at the other man. “Why?”

Cas shrugs but doesn’t even look up. He just continues tracing the marks on Dean’s chest with one pointed finger. “Because I like them,” he replies simply.

Dean raises an eyebrow and tries not to squirm when Cas’s finger ghosts over a particularly sensitive spot. “Well, I don’t,” he says, pursing his lips into a pout. And he doesn’t. Sam was always the lucky one growing up, perfect skin and all. Oh sure, Dean got nice golden tans too, but the cost of each time he did was new freckles popping up. His little brother always used to make fun of his damn freckles...

At this, Cas pauses and finally looks at him. “But they are a part of you,” Cas points out. “And, they remind me of the stars. I can see constellations in them.”

For the love of - ! “The fuck are you talking about, Cas? Constellations?”

Cas nods and points out a particular mapping of freckles near Dean’s right shoulder. “See? This group right here looks like Orion. There’s his belt and everything.”

Dean twists his neck as much as he can and tries to see what the heck Castiel is talking about. He can see the spots, all right, but Orion? “Dude...They’re freckles. That’s all I can see.”   

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You have no imagination, Dean. How about this one?” He sits up and pulls Dean with him, tucking his legs underneath and snatching Dean’s left arm up. He holds it and examines it closely. “I know it’s here somewhere...I saw it the other…! Ah!” He triumphantly points to a very fine smattering of freckles on the forearm. “Here! Taurus!” He pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “Well, if you turn your head slightly and squint at it like this, you can see it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. So, yeah. Castiel is officially a nerd. “Cas, you’re such a weirdo sometimes, you know that?” Suddenly something on the television catches his eye. He pushes Cas away with a grunt and dives for the remote, turning it up so he can hear what’s being said, face paling.

“Dean?” Cas says from where he landed. “Is everything okay?”

“Shut up,” Dean says harshly. He doesn't spare Cas another thought right now. He can’t. Because that is  _ his  _ face on the news.  _ Michael’s _ . 

_ “-has been found brutally murdered in his Wichita apartment earlier this morning. The victim has been identified as Michael Milligan, age thirty seven. Milligan had been under police investigation for a series of breaking and entering charges, as well as multiple aggravated assaults and sexual assaults. There are currently no suspects in the case, although police suspect vigilante justice. They urge anyone with any information related to this case to please step forward. In other news-” _

Dean flies off the bed and into the bathroom, gagging. He falls to his knees in front of the toilet, before bringing up everything that he had eaten for the past month. That what it feels like, anyways. He’s sobbing and gagging, gripping the porcelain seat for all he’s worth. 

_ Multiple _ assaults? That happened to others? Oh Jesus...The thought causes another violent retch.

He spits bile into the toilet and flushes it, before collapsing in a heap and curling into himself, rocking back and forth. He should be happy. That fucker is dead because someone killed him, and Dean should be happy. And a part of him is ecstatic, but the wound that had finally began to heal is now reopened, and Dean can feel it bleeding out into his soul. He sobs brokenly into his hands. When will this end?

“Dean…” Cas’s mournful voice is right by him, and Dean kicks out angrily.

“Go away.” 

“No.”

Dean snarls. “I said, go away, god dammit! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Castiel sighs heavily. “Dean, I’m not leaving you alone right now.” He pulls down a washcloth and wets it in the sink, then crouches down in front of Dean. “Let me help you?” he asks. His blue eyes are wide and beseeching, and Dean feels the anger lessen a little at the look. He nods slowly. Cas carefully brings the washcloth to Dean’s face, wiping his chin with tender strokes, keeping his eyes on Dean the entire time.

“Thanks,” Dean mutters when Cas has finished. He looks down, unable to bear the sadness in Cas’s eyes any longer. Sadness that he put there.

“I’ll be right back.” Cas pats his knee and stands.

He hears Cas’s footsteps recede into the bedroom, only to return a minute later. There’s the distinctive sound of a lighter being flicked, and then the smell of pot fills the small bathroom. Dean lifts his head slightly and sniffles loudly. “You’re bringing me my weed?” he rasps. 

“It helps calm you down. Here.” Cas steps forward slowly and bends down, hand extended holding the joint out for Dean to take, placing an ashtray beside him. Wait...did Cas get an ashtray just for him?

“Anything stronger, Cas?” he moans. “I need something stronger. Don’t you have anything?”

“I am sorry, Dean. You can’t have anything stronger. Remember what happened last time?”

Dean scowls, but takes the joint. Geez, make one little mistake...He puffs on it, feeling the drug take hold after a couple minutes. He’s not as high as he has gotten on this shit, and he frowns at the joint in his hand. It feels different.

“It’s not your pot,” Cas says as he sits down beside Dean. “I asked Gabriel to get me some high in CBD marijuana, and he got me this. I figured it might come in handy.”

“Cas, mine had high CBD as well, you know.”

“Yes. But it also got you high. Which is fine sometimes, but I wanted to have some of my own on hand in case you needed it.”

That’s...probably one of the sweetest things ever. “Thanks,” Dean says, struck suddenly by how much Cas cares. He releases a shuddering breath and stubs out the rest. He covers his face and shakes his head, no longer panicking but still reeling from what he learned on the news.

Cas puts his arm around Dean and pulls him in close. Dean doesn’t even fight it, so he leans in, turning his face into Cas’s shoulder, as though the other man can hide him from the world. Cas gives him a gentle squeeze, and they sit, each lost in their own thoughts.

In the bedroom, Dean’s phone is ringing. Sammy’s ringtone. Dean is too tired to get it. To even move at all, really. He burrows deeper into Castiel’s shoulder. It stops, only to start again a second later. 

“Should you be getting that?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t care,” he mumbles into Cas’s shirt. “Just Sam.”

When it rings again for the third time, Cas sighs and pats Dean’s shoulder. “I think he really wants to talk to you. But I will go answer it and tell him you are not able to talk right now.” He gently pushes Dean up a bit and scoots out from under him before Dean can voice a protest. 

Dean curls into the wall, tremors still running through his body. In the bedroom he can hear Castiel talking softly to Sam, but he is too quiet to make out any words. The only thing running through his mind at the moment is  _ he’s dead,  _ and that thought is looping over and over.  _ Dead. Dead dead dead dead… _

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is tentative, and draws Dean out his thought loop - _ Michael’s deaddeaddeaddead.. _ . He peers up at him. “Sam said you need to go home. The police are there and they need to ask you some questions. Why don’t we clean you up and I’ll take you there?” Dean shrugs but makes no effort to get up. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. “Come on,” Cas holds out a hand for Dean to take. 

Dean hesitates, before sighing and taking the hand. Cas pulls him up and into a hug. Dean stiffens for a moment, but relaxes into it. Cas holds him for a minute, not saying anything else. When Dean feels he has collected himself enough, he straightens with a hiccup. “Sorry, Cas,” he says quietly. “You’re shirt’s all wet.”

“I don’t care,” Cas says softly in his ear. “Are you ready? We can wait a bit longer if you need more time.”

God, how did Dean get so lucky to end up with such a caring guy? He shakes his head. “Nah. Let’s just go get this over with so I can sleep for a week…” He’s fucking exhausted.

The two men clean themselves up. Dean doesn’t have another t-shirt, but luckily Cas has one that fits him. They shuffle out to the truck and head out. 

They can see the police cruiser before they get to the house. Dean sinks down in the seat. He knows he did nothing wrong, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it. Especially with cops. 

Cas parks on the street and shuts off his truck. They sit there for a moment in silence, staring out the windshield. For a brief second, Dean thinks he sees something familiar turn the corner up ahead. But it’s gone too fast for him to really notice. 

Finally, Cas turns to him. “Do you want me to leave? I understand if you do.”

Dean doesn’t look at him. “Do you want to?”

“I want to be wherever you need me to be.”

Dean chews on his thumbnail, turning and looking at Cas. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

They make their way into the house. “We’re in here, Dean,” Sam says from the living room. 

Dean’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he steps in. It’s the same cops from last year. The ones who took his statement in the hospital. They stand and smile at him. “Dean, how have you been?” The taller one says. Officer...What was her name again? Mills. That’s right. Mills and Hudak.

“Fine, I guess.” he says. He sees their eyes flick over his shoulder to Cas. “Uhh, sorry. This is Castiel. He’s...umm…” Come on, Dean, you can say it… “He’s my boyfriend.” There.

If the officers are surprised, they don’t show it. They each nod warmly at Castiel. Then officer Hudak steps forward. “This will only take a few minutes, Dean. Have you heard the-”

“I’ve heard.” Dean interrupts, voice hard. He doesn’t want to hear it again. He moves to sit on the couch beside Sam. Castiel sits on his other side. It’s odd, but he feels safer, now, with the two most important people in his life on either side of him.

The two police officers look at each other and nod. “We just need to ask you a couple of questions, then we will be out of your hair.” Hudak says. She pulls out her pad and pen from her breast pocket. “Can you please tell us where you were on July twenty third?”

Dean shrugs. “Sure. I was with Cas here at my therapy appointment.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas nod. “My therapist was there, too, obviously.”

“And where did you go after that?”

“Cas and I went for dinner. Then I came home.”

The sound of the pen scratching on the paper fills the room for a moment. “And your therapist can vouch for this as well?”

The three men on the couch nod.

“Alright. I’m just going to need her name and phone number, and then we will be on our way.”

Dean sits back in surprise. “That’s it?” he asks.

Officer Mills smiles gently. “That’s it,” she confirms. “We just needed to confirm you were still here in Lawrence when Mr. Milligan was killed.” Dean’s jaw clenches at the name. She sighs and puts her pen down. “Dean, what happened to you was a horrible thing, and the world is a better place with him gone, and as far as I’m concerned this case can be closed. I’m not supposed to say that, but I’m going to. Unfortunately, we have to do our job, and that involves talking to all possible suspects.”

Dean raises his eyebrow. He was a suspect, huh? 

Now officer Hudak shrugs and smiles, correctly reading Dean’s expression. “You were involved, so yeah, you technically were one. But it’s pretty open and shut with you. You have a very solid alibi, and I think we can cross your name off the list.” She stands up. “Now, if we can just grab that name and number, we will be out of your hair.”

Sam nods and stands as well. “Sure. I’ll grab her card for you.” He disappears into the kitchen. He brings it back and hands it to the officers. They smile and say their goodbyes, and Sam shows them out.

Dean and Cas remain seated on the couch. Dean is still shaken up from the news broadcast earlier, and feels his mind drifting back to it. He scrubs a hand through his short hair. “Well, that was so much fun, wasn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t believe he’s actually dead...Jesus…” 

“That’s a good thing though, right?” Cas sounds rather confused. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Dean replies. “I guess I’ve spent this whole past year looking over my shoulder, thinking he’ll be there...And now I don’t have to do that…” He chokes out a sob, but doesn’t let himself cry. He’s so sick of crying...Cas’s hand comes up to rub soothing circles on his back.

Sam comes back into the living room. He sits down next to Dean with a sigh. “God, Dean,” is all he says.

The doorbell rings, causing all three men to jump. They look at each other curiously. “I’ll get it,” Dean says. He might as well, since it’s probably the cops forgetting to ask him something. He heaves himself up and makes his way to the front door.

He opens it slowly, and his mouth drops open when he sees the person standing on the doorstep, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Dad?” he chokes out, taking a step back.

John smiles wearily. “Hi, son.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but we are in the home stretch now!

###  Chapter Eleven

Dean stares at his father with wide eyes. “What…? What are you doing here?” He hears Sam and Cas stumble to the door, but he is completely consumed by the man standing in front of him. The man he at one point considered his hero now looks weary. His brown eyes have dark circles underneath them. A scruffy grey beard covers the lower half of his face, and a semi-healed scratch slices down his right cheekbone. 

“Dad?” Sam is incredulous, as though he can’t believe the man is really standing there. Dean doesn’t blame him. He can’t either.

“Hey, Sammy.” His dad pulls his hands out of his pockets, spreading them wide in front of him. “Can I come in?”

“It’s  _ Sam _ ,” Dean hisses for his brother. Dean is the only one who gets to call him Sammy. His dad lost that right when he walked out of Dean’s life and never looked back.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean,” he chides gently. “It’s okay.”

Dean angrily shakes off his brother’s hand. “Fuck off,” he snaps. To both his father and his brother, perhaps. He whirls around, almost running straight into Sam, before shoving past him. Cas is hanging back, watching with worried eyes.

“Dean!” his dad calls behind him.

He doesn’t turn around. He passes Cas, who follows behind him silently. Why the fuck is his dad here. Today. After one goddamn year? All those times after it happened that Dean tried to get a hold of his father, needing his goddamn  _ hero _ to be there for him and tell him he’s gonna be okay, and...nothing. Couldn’t once answer the damn phone. Not for Dean, anyways. He storms out the back door angrily. Let Sam invite their father in if he wants to, but Dean’s not gonna be the one to do it. Nope. No way in hell.

He throws open the back door and catches himself just before it slams in his boyfriend’s face. Whoops. “Sorry, Cas,” he mutters. He moves out and sits on the back step, making room so Cas can sit down beside him.

He crosses his arms over his knees and rests his forehead on them. “So,” he groans. “That’s my dad.”

“So I gathered,” Cas replies wryly. He nudges Dean’s shoulder with his own. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Dean mumbles into his knees. “But I guess I have to face him sometime. God, why is everything happening today? We had such a great night. I wanna go back to last night, Cas!” Dean knows he’s whining right now, but he doesn’t care. He’s earned the right to whine a bit, for fuck’s sake.

Before Cas can reply, the back door swings open and Dean grits his teeth. “Go ‘way,” he says tiredly. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”

The familiar sound of his dad’s military boots come closer, stopping just shy of close. Smart man. Dean has half a mind to punch him. “Hey, kiddo.” He clears his throat. “Hi, I’m John Winchester, Dean and Sam’s father.”

Cas stands and faces the man standing on the back deck. “I am Castiel.” Oh. Right. Cas. “And I know who you are, John Winchester.” Ouch. Cas sounds cold. Dean grins behind his arms. 

“Right. Listen, uhh, Castiel, would you mind giving us a few minutes? I need to talk to my son.”

“I believe you had plenty of opportunity to speak to your  _ son  _ when he called you-”

“Excuse me?”

Jesus. Gotta stop this before they resort to fisticuffs. Dean adores Castiel, but he has no doubt who would win, and it’s not his blue-eyed boyfriend. Dean pushes himself to his feet and turns around. His dad and Cas are standing facing each other, squaring off like a couple of damn pitbulls. His dad’s fists are clenched and Dean hurriedly pushes between them. 

“Cas, calm down, okay? Look, I should talk to him. Go inside and see what Sammy’s up to.” He gently pushes Cas towards the door. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Castiel looks between Dean and his dad, the worry evident on his face, but finally he nods and relaxes. “I’ll be inside if you need me,” he says. 

Dean grins softly at him. “I know.” And, knowing full well his dad is watching the two of them, pulls Cas down and kisses him gently on the lips, ignoring his dad’s sharp inhale. 

When Cas has disappeared inside, Dean sighs, and turns his head just enough so he can eyeball his dad. “Got a problem with that?” he asks. There’s a challenge in his voice, as if daring his dad to say he does. Dean is done hiding.

His father raises an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth turns up into a slight smirk. “Quite the guy you reeled in there.”

Not the reaction he has expected. Dean rolls his eyes. Instead of commenting, though, he tilts his head in a distinctly Cas-like way and regards his dad for a minute before asking, “Why, Dad? Why’d you come now? Where were you when I needed you?” His dad looks away uncomfortably. And Dean just  _ knows _ . His breath catches in his throat and he shakes his head. “It was  _ you _ …”

His dad huffs out a breath. “I couldn’t let him get away with that, Dean. He hurt you. He hurt  _ my son _ .”

Dean barks an uncontrolled laugh. “Yeah, Dad, he did. But I’m healing from that now. Thanks to Cas, and Sam, and Ellen...even Uncle Bobby. I mean, I’m certainly not one hundred percent, but I’m better. I was actually doing great, until I saw the damn  _ news  _ this morning. Jesus!” He covers his face with his hands. Dean doesn’t know what to do with the information his dad has given him. One part of him is grateful, so damn grateful to his father for taking away the fear that Michael would be lurking somewhere, waiting to grab him again. But there’s another part that is horrified that someone would do that, and for  _ him _ …He just doesn’t know which part is bigger.

He moves over and slumps into one of the chairs. Hesitantly his dad follows suit and sits across from him. “So, what now?” Dean asks. “You gonna turn yourself in? The cops were just here, you know. You just missed them.”

“I know. And no, I wasn’t planning on it. Far as I’m concerned, that asshole got what was coming to him. I did worse things while I was in the Marines, kiddo. I have no regrets.” His dad leans back in the chair and watches Dean, who shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “But, you’re right. I should have been here for you. You have every right to be mad. And if you still want me to, I’ll go.”

Can Dean live with the knowledge of what his father has done for him? Then he remembers… This has happened to others. Would have probably happened to more. If it weren't for his father. He sighs. “Think they’ll catch you?”

His dad snorts. “Doubt it. The guy had a lot of enemies, from what I was able to gather. Moved around a lot too, only staying in a place for about a year. As far as the police are concerned, I’m sure they think it could’ve been anybody, from any part of the country.”

“Moved around, huh?” Dean fiddles with his thumbs. 

“Yeah. Once he...well, once he got what he wanted in one city, he’d move to another.” His dad leans over his hands. “Dean, that guy was crazy. Legitimately crazy. I found out he was in a mental institution for several years, before being released. He wasn’t taking his meds, if the full and expired bottles I found in his bedroom were any indication. He would arrive in a city and just...fixate on someone, and they would become his obsession.”

A single tear leaks from the corner of Dean’s eye, and he wipes it away. “So...so it wasn’t me? Not really? I didn’t...I didn’t bring this on myself?” He looks at his dad, eyes pleading for him to release him from this burden.

“No, son. You did nothing wrong, you hear me? I wish I would’ve told you that before. God, Dean. I am so sorry. I’m proud of you, son.” Tears are leaking from his father’s eyes now, too, and Dean feels the last of the guilt that has been weighing him down lift. 

The tears flow freely now, from both of them, but this time around they are cleansing. His dad stands and kneels in front of Dean’s chair, gathering him into a hug. Dean grips him tightly. Through the screen door, he can see Cas and Sam worriedly watching. He coughs. “I think we have an audience,” he mutters.

His dad chuckles. “Well, they should come out. I want the chance to make a better impression on my son’s boyfriend.” His dad pulls back, wiping his face and straightening his clothes. “You gonna tell him?”

Wait, him? “Does Sammy know?” Dean asks.

His dad shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe? Too be honest, I don’t know.  But, umm, I’m sure you know Sam and I talked. I had to get updates about how you were doing.” He holds up a hand to forstall Dean’s protest. “I  _ know _ I could’ve talked to you, but I had to distance myself from you if I was going to do...what I did. Anyways, your brother’s smart, and he probably figured it out.” He clears his throat. “Well? You gonna tell Castiel or not?”

Dean sighs and scratches the tip of his nose. “Not tonight, at least. I don’t think I can keep any secrets from Cas, Dad, but I won’t say anything tonight.” He motions Sam and Castiel out.

His dad raises an eyebrow at him, before turning to the others. “Castiel,” he greets. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. John Winchester. I’m pleased to meet the man who is willing to put up with my son.”

Cas tilts his head and regards Dean’s father with that hard squint he has. The silence is tense for a moment, as Cas regards first John, then Dean. Then his face breaks into a wide smile. “Castiel Novak, but please, call me Cas.”

~*~*~*~*~

“I like your father,” Cas says as the two of them load up the grocery cart with stuff to prepare dinner with. Dean had tried his best to avoid the vegetable section, but Cas, damn him, had insisted. Yuck.

Dean snorts as he reaches for a loaf of freshly baked bread. “Yeah,” he sighs. “He’s a real gem.” He looks over at Cas when the other man halts him with a hand on his arm.

“I thought you and him had just finished working things out?” Cas says with a frown. “Was I remiss in not punching him?”

Dean shakes his head with a smile as he pushes the cart further down the aisle. “No, Cas. Believe me, yesterday I would’ve loved to see you clock ‘im. But, uhh, things are a little different now. Just...He told me a couple things. Something I was surprised to hear, and something I  _ needed _ to hear.” He leans his elbows on the cart as he pushes it forward slowly. 

“What were you surprised about?” Curiosity colours Cas’s voice as he follows Dean, picking up various items and examining them before putting them back. 

Dean has to think for only half of a second. A public grocery store is  _ really _ not the time to come out and tell his boyfriend that his dad murdered the subject of Dean’s nightmares. Yeah,  _ that _ would be a disaster and a half. “Later,” he mutters, glancing around for a distraction. “Do you like salt and pepper chips?” He holds up the bag, and when Cas nods in agreement he tosses it into the cart on top of the rest of the shit.

Cas crinkles his nose at the shopping cart. Cute. “I think we have enough food to feed a whole army for dinner,” he says.

Dean glances into the cart and shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Although Sam could probably gobble all this up on his own, feeding that gigantor body of his. Come on, let’s get out of here.” They head up to the cash registers, lining up behind a thousand others who feel that right now is as good a time as any to stock up their refrigerators. God, this is going to take forever…

Finally it is their turn, and Cas is humming a tune under his breath - is that  _ ABBA _ ? Jesus. - as he puts their groceries on the belt. They don’t say anything else to each other until they are loading everything into the back of the Impala. Then Cas turns to Dean and pulls him in for a quick kiss.

Dean obliges after a quick check around. 

“Why are you looking around? You aren’t embarrassed of us, are you?” Cas asks after they pull apart.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, just makin’ sure there aren’t any assholes around.” This  _ is _ Kansas after all, and Dean does  _ not _ feel that getting stabbed for kissing another dude would be a good way to end this day. To make it up to Cas, he grabs him by the shirt and gives him another kiss. Longer. Firmer. He presses Castiel up against the warm metal of the Impala, and feels him hum happily in the back of his throat as arms come up and wrap around him. He licks into Cas’s mouth. God, this man can kiss.

A throat clears behind them, and Dean whirls around, pressing himself against the car beside Cas. Cas, who still has his arm held around Dean protectively. But once Dean sees who it is, he shrugs it off with a scowl.

“Jo,” he greets cautiously. 

“Hiya, Dean.” The blonde rocks onto the balls of her feet and eyes Cas up and down, grinning like an idiot. “And who is your... _ friend _ ?”

Dean juts his chin out at her. “This is Castiel. My boyfriend.” Don’t make a fucking scene, Jo…He feels Cas squeeze his arm, and he looks away from Jo’s smiling face for a moment to see him glowing with pride at Dean’s words. God, the guy is so damn sappy sometimes...  

She snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Well, obviously,” she says, stepping forward and sticking her hand out at Cas. “Hi! I’m Jo.”

Cas reaches forward and shakes her hand, smiling warmly at her. “Castiel,” he says.

Jo turns back to Dean. “Wow. I  _ so _ didn’t know you were gay,” she says, shaking her head in wonderment. Dean opens his mouth to say that no, in fact he is  _ not _ gay, he is  _ bi _ , but Jo keeps plowing on. “We should go on a double date sometime! I don’t think you’ve ever met my girlfriend Charlie!”

Wait, what? Girlfriend? Dean blinks wide eyes at her in this new revelation. He had no. Fucking. Clue. “A girl named Charlie?” is the response he manages to get out.

“Yup.”

Cas chuckles beside him. “I take it you did not know your friend was attracted to girls?”

Dean glares at him half-heartedly. “No.” He turns back to Jo and wrinkles his nose. “Have you  _ always _ been gay?”

“Duh,” she says. “You didn’t think I was  _ actually _ flirting, did you? Dude, it’s just a way to get tips. The guys don’t tip nearly as well if they know they don’t stand a chance in hell! Speaking of, I haven’t seen you in  _ ages _ ...Where’ve you been?”

Before Dean can even think of some reply that doesn’t inform Jo of what happened and why he hasn’t been a steady presence in  _ that place _ for the past year, Cas clears his throat. “My apologies, Jo. I have been keeping Dean rather...occupied this past while.”

Gratitude swells up in Dean as Jo looks at the two of them knowingly. “Yeah,” she says with a grin that reminds Dean of a cheshire cat. “I bet. Anyways, I gotta run. But I’m serious, here, okay? Double date?” She points two fingers at them and waggles her eyebrows.

“That sounds wonderful. It was nice to meet you, Jo.” Cas dips his head and nudges Dean.

“Oh Yeah. Right, sorry. You bet.” Dean clears his throat and waves at Jo as she saunters off, tossing a wave over her shoulder as she goes. He huffs a breath out when she’s gone. “Thanks, Cas. That could’ve been a lot more awkward…”

“Mmm.” Cas closes the trunk and casts an appraising look in Dean’s direction.

“What?” 

“Is that,” he waves a hand at Jo’s retreating back, “related to what happened?” 

“I guess,” Dean replies with a shrug. “I had just left the place where she was working.”

“Ah. I see. She does not know what happened then?”

“No. Why the fuck would she? It ain’t like I go blabbing it all around,” Dean scowls as he heads around to the driver’s side. He leans over and rests his elbows on his baby’s roof. The warm metal soaks into the skin, like she is reassuring him that she is there. “Thanks, though. For the save there.”

Cas gives him a sparkling grin. “Anytime, Dean. That’s what boyfriends do.”

~*~*~*~*

The conversation is stilted around the dinner table that night. Dean might have come to some sort of forgiving agreement with his father, but that in no way implies that he has anything to talk about in a general conversation with him.  _ Especially _ with his very own boyfriend sitting beside him, after his dad just found out he was bi...Oh lord, just thinking about it is enough to give Dean a headache. 

Cas doesn’t seem oblivious to the family drama around him, but he also doesn’t appear to let it bother him. “Will you please pass the potatoes, John?” he asks politely. 

Dean looks over and catches his dad watching him, food forgotten. He shifts and clears his throat. “Dad,” he says loudly. “Pass Cas the potatoes, will ya?” 

Sheepishly, his dad hands them over to Cas, who takes the bowl with a nod of thanks. “Sorry about that.” 

“Might’ve heard him if you weren’t so busy staring at me,” Dean mutters under his breath. Seriously. It’s creepy. 

“I heard that,” his dad says as he raises a forkful of pot roast to his mouth. “And you’re my son. I can stare if I want to.”

Sam sighs dramatically. “Come on, dad. What are you, two years old? Eat your dinner.”

Yeah. Dean manages to resist the urge to stick out his tongue at his dad, but something must’ve showed on his face, because Cas elbows him in the gut. Okay, okay. Message heard loud and clear. Play nice.

“So when are you heading out, Dad?” Sam asks once everything settles back down.

“Probably after dinner. Got some stuff of your Uncle Bobby’s I need to run back to him.”

Stuff? What kind of stuff? “You need to do that tonight?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Should probably get it done as soon as possible,” he replies with a shrug. Then he puts down his fork and straightens. Uh oh. Dad’s getting serious. “But boys, I won’t...I’m not going to up and leave you, okay? I’d like to pop in every couple months. Maybe stay for a few days. If that’s alright with you.” 

Sam looks over at Dean, as though asking for permission. When Dean just shrugs, Sam nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, Dad. That'd be great. Really.”

Geez, how times have changed. Dean and his dad used to be inseparable, and Sammy was a rebellious little twit, but now that all seems back asswards. Huh. Well, c’est la vie. Or some shit like that.

Afterwards conversation is steered towards more mundane topics. Castiel’s horses. What team might win the Superbowl this year. The Impala...But soon enough everyone has finished eating and really, the Winchester patriarch has never really been one to dance around any issue.

“Well, I guess I’ll get outta your hair,” he says as he pushes himself out of his seat. “Places to go, people to see and all that.” 

The rest of them stand and trail along to the front, where his dad plucks his truck keys and leather jacket up of the back of the couch. Folding the jacket across his arms, he turns to Castiel. “Nice meetin’ ya, Cas. You take good care of my boy, ya hear?”

Cas firmly shakes his hand. “Don’t worry. I will.”

When his dad turns to him, Dean clenches his jaw against the swell of emotion that rises up. “Dad,” he manages to get out. He holds out his hand for his dad to shake.

Bypassing Dean’s hand, his father pulls him in for a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon, kiddo,” is whispered into his ear just before his dad pulls away. He hugs Sam too, says something to him that Sam responds to with a short nod, and clears his throat with a smile. “See you boys.”

“Let me walk you to your truck, dad,” Sam follows him out, and the screen door shuts behind them with a bang. 

Dean turns to head back into the kitchen. Makes it down the hallway, and then turns and rushes back to and out the front door, needing to physically see his dad for as long as possible. He’s not certain if he hates himself for that, but right now he doesn’t care. He stands on the front porch, and after a moment, hears Cas come up behind him. The guy is making enough noise that a deaf guy could hear him, but hey, Dean appreciates the effort anyways. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, and Dean leans back into Cas’s solid warmth. Together they watch Sam give his dad a brief hug and then step back to give him room to get into the truck.

Dean catches his father’s eyes as the truck starts with a loud growl - impressive, but it’s got nothing on Baby. He gives him a small nod that says everything. Good-bye. Thanks. See you...sometime. When his father gives him a jaunty two finger salute, the corner of Dean’s mouth turns up in a grin. Yeah, Dad. You too. And then he’s gone, the truck disappearing around the corner at the end of the street. 

Sam comes up the steps and gives Dean a small squeeze on the arm on his way past. “I’ll be inside,” he says. 

“I think he’ll be back,” Cas’s voice murmurs in his ear. “He said he would be.”

“Yeah.” Dean chews on the inside of his lip as he stares at where his father’s truck was lost from sight. He reflects for a moment on how much everything has changed in the past few months. How  _ he _ has changed. He turns his head and smiles at the man who has come to mean everything to him, who has brought back the man Dean used to be. And he loves him for it.


	12. Epilogue

### Epilogue

“Dean.”

“Go ‘way,” Dean mutters and rolls over, taking the down-filled quilt with him. He’s not certain what time it is right now, but whatever early o’clock it _is_ , Dean knows it is not late enough.

“Dean.”

Nope. “Nugh..Mfff…” There. Let Cas figure out what _that_ means.

“ _Dean_!”

Jesus! Okay already. Dean pulls a corner of the blanket down and peers out at Cas, who is standing there in a white shirt, black pyjamas pants...and a freakin’ ugly ass red and green button up sweater. He looks like a dork. A _cute_ dork, but a dork all the same.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas’s eyes are twinkling as he smiles down at Dean.

Dean sits up with a groan. God, there had better be coffee on if Cas is waking him up.

“Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in the living room? I’ll have a hot cup of coffee ready for you.”

God, the guy is a freakin’ mind reader. “In that case, I think I might be able to find in myself to forgive you for waking me at this ungodly hour,” Dean replies.

Cas makes a strange face. That crinkly nose look is kind of cute, actually. “Ungodly? Dean, it’s eleven o’clock…”

Oh. Really? Shit. “Well, in any case, I’ll still forgive you.” Dean stretches with a yawn and scrubs the crusties out of his eyes. Gross. He shuffles his way over to where his shirt is laying on the floor, pulling it over his head with another massive yawn.

By the time he brushes his teeth and splashes cold water on his face, he is starting to feel a little more human. He looks at himself in the mirror, pleased to note how much healthier he looks. He sucks his lower lip in between his teeth as he contemplates. Right. It’s Christmas. A flutter in his chest as he thinks of Cas’s present. He smiles and nods at himself in the mirror. Yeah. He can do this.

Dean and Castiel had agreed not to spend money on gifts for each other, which had left Dean in a bit of a pickle. He’s never been good at figuring out what to get when he _could_ spend money, much less trying to come up with something that Cas would want for _free…_ Dean knows that Cas will love this idea, but there is still a slight twinge of apprehension as he makes his way out of the bathroom.

He quickly heads back into the room before Cas sees him, grabbing a small pill that he had cut in half, and a bottle from his jacket. He swallows the pill half dry, shoving the other item into the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s been able to stay away from the drugs mostly, so Meg had been surprised to hear from him when he had called with his request. But she had provided what he had asked for. With a fair bit of laughter on her part, the bitch.

He knows that this is a band aid, that it won’t _fix_ the problem. But he is hoping that by being able to do this...Well, maybe all he needs is one time. It’s been getting better, but he still feels like he needs that extra push. He gives himself a mental shove, and goes out to meet Cas.

Despite the bright late morning sunshine, the tree in the corner is lit up in yellow white, and the twinkling lights illuminate what the sun does not. Cas is sitting on the couch, ugly sweater and all, sipping on a coffee and bouncing his leg up and down as he listens to Christmas music on the television. God...Dean hates Christmas music. But he says nothing about it as he sits and takes up the mug of joe on the table. Cas loves it, and so that’s good enough for him.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas greets him again, as he takes Dean’s hand not holding the coffee and kisses the back of it.

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pull back, even though having the back of his hand kissed like that makes him feel like some sort of chick or something. “Merry Christmas,” he replies.

Cas leans back contentedly. “Christmas morning was always my favorite moment of the year growing up,” he says wistfully. “My mother would always make homemade pastries, and after a delicious breakfast, Gabriel and I would open our presents beside a warm fire while our parents watched…”

Dean feels a small twinge of jealousy when Cas mentions his mother, but smiles anyways. He won’t begrudge Cas just because his own mother is gone. “That sounds nice, Cas.”

“Mmm.” Cas hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything else about it, as though he knows those memories are rather painful for Dean. “Now, _please_ can I give you your present?” Eagerness colors his voice as he stands and moves over to the Christmas tree. He snags a card from in the branches -  and when did _that_ get put there? - and practically skips back over to Dean and holding it out for him to take.

Shit. They were supposed to get cards? When did they agree on that? Dean takes the large red envelope tentatively, eyeing it as Cas flops back down onto the couch beside him. He stares at it, turning it over in his hands. It feels slightly thicker than a card, and Dean chews on his lower lip as he ponders what it could be.

“Open it!” Cas says. He is practically bouncing up and down on the couch as he watches Dean closely.

Dean huffs out a chuckle, then slowly tears the seal and pulls out a sparkling Christmas card. As he opens it, a photograph fall onto his lap. He picks it up, and his brow wrinkles as he stares at it. It’s a photo of Rebel standing in a stall, a large red bow tied around her neck. Does this mean…? “Cas…” He whispers in awe. “I…” he trails off, unable to believe that Cas would do something like this. Suddenly what he had planned seems like, well...crap. “This is too much, Cas.”

Castiel tilts his head and looks at Dean quizzically. “What makes you say something silly like that?” he asks. When Dean opens his mouth to reply, Cas shakes his head. “Dean, you deserve the world. The sun. The moon. The stars… I wish I could give you all those things, but I cannot. But I _can_ give her to you.” He picks up the photo and looks at it fondly, as Dean feels his throat tighten with emotion. “You two have helped each other out so much these past seven months. I think it is only fair that you continue to help each other grow.” Cas looks up from the photo and searches Dean’s eyes. “Do you not like…?” Worry creeps into Cas’s tone, and Dean puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and smiles. The tension eases slightly from Cas’s shoulders.

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. This has got to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever gotten him, and for a moment he is rendered speechless. Oh God...Don’t cry…He clears his throat. “Just...Wow. Thank-you, Cas. Thank-you.” He picks up the card that had fallen into his lap and reads what Castiel has written in his smooth handwriting.

**_Dean,_ **

**_From the moment I first saw you, I knew in my heart that you were someone special._ **

**_I thank you for allowing me into your life, and want you to know how much that means to me._ **

**_Merry Christmas. I love you._ **

**_Cas_ **

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, hopefully wiping away any evidence of tears. “Love you, too, Cas,” he says, leaning over and kissing the other man gently on the lips. “I umm… I didn’t get you a card with your gift or anything. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking...” He shakes his head helplessly. “I suck.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “You don’t suck, Dean.” He shifts on the couch, and Dean knows he’s waiting for his present. Could be mean and make him wait a while, but...nah.

Dean coughs and wonders how he’s going to do this. He has had a few ideas, the most unique being _Saturday Night Live’s_ Dick in a Box-esque, but he really had no clue how to pull off a stunt like that without looking like a total tool, so... Nodding firmly to himself, he decides to, well, Nike it up and Just Do It. He claps his hands once and pushes himself off the couch, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the corner.

Castiel is watching him, a puzzled look on his face. “Dean?”

Dean waggles his eyebrows and hooks his thumbs into the hem of his sweatpants, pulling them off as he watches the dawning realization on Cas’s face. His pants quickly join his t-shirt, and Dean stands there in his boxers for half a second before he crawls onto Cas’s lap, straddling him and capturing his lips with his own, his hands cupping the other man’s cheeks.

Cas moans into the kiss, and his hands wrap around Dean’s waist, tugging him closer. They kiss for so long that Dean can feel his lungs begin to constrict but still he wants more.

Eventually they pull apart, each breathing heavily, and Dean leans forward so that his forehead is resting on Cas’s. He closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything for a moment, just listens to the sound of their heavy breaths. His hands slide down to rest gently on Cas’s shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Cas. I want to...I’m ready.” He straightens and looks down at Cas, gauging his reaction.

Castiel inhales sharply, wide eyes fixed on Dean. “Dean…” he breathes. “Are you certain…?”

Dean rolls his eyes and swats at Cas’s arm. “Yeah. I am. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. And told ya I’m ready, okay? I trust you.”

And now Cas’s blue eyes are so damn wide and watery that it makes him look like an anime character. Heh. Anime Cas...The thought makes Dean grin. They could film their very own hentai with Cas looking like that. Could be fun...

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of Cas pulling him back in and his mouth latching onto the hollow above his collarbone, and holy…! He sucks in a sharp breath. Yup, Cas can do that forever...fucking incredible…Cas’s mouth licks and sucks at the area, teeth grazing the spot that’s becoming more and more overly sensitive with every pass of the tongue, making Dean groan.

When Cas finally pulls away, he looks at the bruised flesh in satisfaction. “There. Do you know I have wanted to mark you as mine for a long time?” There is no mistaking the glee, nor the possessiveness in his voice, and the sound sends a jolt straight to Dean’s cock. Geez, if this is how it’s going to be, Dean regrets not being brave enough to do this earlier. And God bless the little blue pill, he thinks when his cock begins to harden.

Dean raises an eyebrow and tries to see the mark that Cas left, but it’s in such a spot that he can only see the edge of it. Man, he hasn’t had a hickey since high school… “Yeah, Cas,” he breathes. “‘M yours…” He grabs ahold of that god awful sweater and pulls it off of Cas’s arms, and when that’s gone, the white t-shirt quickly follows.

As soon as Castiel’s upper body is naked, he grips Dean under the armpits, and with a strength that surprises - and kind of turns him on - lifts him up and lowers him onto the couch cushions. Now Cas is above him, and Dean shifts to make room for his legs.

“Is this alright?” Cas checks in with him.

Dean glares. He appreciates the sentiment of Cas wanting to make sure he’s okay, but if he keeps doing that, he’s gonna kill the mood, damnit! “Cas, I got this, okay? I. Am. Good. And the only way I’m gonna flip my lid, is if you don’t start fucking touching me!”

Cas purses his lips and tilts his head as he looks down at Dean from his perch on Dean’s legs. “So demanding,” he chides. “Alright then. I suppose we can do this your way.” He settles in and gets to work.

Every touch of Castiel’s fingers up and down his chest is like electricity, and sends waves of pleasure through Dean’s body. Finally they trail lower, and Dean shivers as they glide over his hip bones, sliding into the waistband of his boxers and teasingly slipping them down a fraction.

Cas follows his fingers with his lips, laying kisses down onto Dean’s skin, shifting his body down as he goes. He reaches the spot where golden brown hairs curl lazily up towards his belly button, and Dean can’t help the sharp inhale when Cas lightly tugs at some of them with his teeth. _Jesus_. Why does that feel so damn good?

The fingers pull the shorts down even further, and Dean’s achingly hard cock glistens as it’s freed. Castiel hesitates, looking up at Dean with lust blown pupils. Asking for permission.

Dean rolls his hips up as he watches Cas through hooded eyes. God, he want - _needs -_ more. “Cas,” he growls. “Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ tease. I’m _fine_!”

That seems to be all the encouragement that Cas needs, because the next second his tongue starts at the base of Dean’s cock and licks a firm line up to the tip. Dean bites his lip to keep from crying out, and practically bites through it when Cas does it again, this time lapping at the precum leaking out of Dean’s cock. When Cas suddenly swallows him down to the hilt, it takes all of Dean’s self control to not cum like a prepubescent teenager right then and there.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Fuck, Cas…”

Cas pulls up and looks at Dean with a smile, his lips glistening, “Soon,” he says, and goes right back to work on Dean’s cock. Dean grips the couch cushion tightly in one hand, and uses the other on the back of Cas’s head to encourage him to go faster, _deeper,yes,more_!

Just before Dean is about to explode, Cas pulls off, and Dean ruts against the air hopelessly. “Cas…” he moans.

Castiel pushes himself up, looking down at Dean with heat in his gaze as he tugs off his pyjama bottoms, allowing his own rock hard - _delicious_ \- cock to spring free. Yup...Dean is _so_ ready for this. “Do you want…?” Cas’s voice is husky and he clears his throat. “Do you wish for me to…?” He looks down at himself and back up to Dean.

Ah. Dean motions to where his pants are laying in a heap. “Pocket,” he rasps out.

Cas snags up the sweatpants, and from where he is laying, Dean can see him swallow heavily as he pulls out a small container of lube, a condom tied around it with an elastic.

Before Cas can ask if Dean is sure this is what he wants, Dean beckons to him with one hand. Cas drops the pants, but hangs onto the small red bottle and the condom as he steps back over to where Dean is laying, head cocked to the side as though he’s trying to discern what Dean wants. Which is _Cas_ . Right. The. Fuck. Now. As soon as Cas is close enough, Dean reaches out and grips his arm, pulling him back down with a growl. “I want to give this to you...And I need to take this back. I am _not_ going to let him have this anymore.”  

Cas breathes out a shaky breath and nods above him. He straightens and pops the top on the bottle, squeezing a generous portion out onto his fingers.

Dean sucks in a breath when the first finger enters him. The burn is minimal, Cas applied enough lube that he is able to slip in easily. After a few minutes, a second finger is added, and the familiar burn starts up as Cas scissors his fingers in and out. Dean keeps his eyes on Castiel, grounding himself, but when a third finger is added, Dean can’t help but close his eyes with a throaty moan as a wave of pleasure shoot up his spine.

Cas spends several more minutes prepping him, and each and every time he hits that magical spot with his fingers, Dean jolts. _Yes_! “Cas…” he pants.

The other man nods at the unspoken plea, and pulls his fingers out. There’s the sound of the condom package ripping open, followed by the bottle being squeezed, and a moment later Dean has to stifle a cry as he feels the slick hardness of Cas beginning to push into him. He doesn’t want Castiel to stop.

Cas has prepared him enough, that he is able to slide in easily, and when he feels Cas start to move, he sucks in a breath. Cas pauses above him, and Dean encourages him to keep moving by hooking a leg up so it’s resting on Cas’s sexy ass, and pushing him forward.

Cas holds himself up, sweat slicked and corded muscles quivering as he moves inside Dean. He tosses his head back and groans, and the sight alone is almost enough to push Dean over the edge. “God, Dean…” Cas whispers. “You feel so damn good…” He shifts and angles himself just right, causing Dean to whine as Cas hits that sweet spot, over, and over...

For some time - Dean’s not entirely sure if it’s minutes or hours, his sense of everything but Cas seemingly gone - the only sounds are muted groans and flesh hitting flesh. But Dean can’t take it any more, it just feels too good. “Cas, I’m gonna…” He’s able to somehow gasp out words between thrusts.

Cas is watching him, lower lip sucked into his mouth and nostrils flaring. “Yes. For me, Dean. Come for me.”

Pleasure rockets through Dean as he cries out, splashing his chest with his own seed. Cas follows him over the precipice a moment later, and Dean can feel Cas’s cock twitching as it fills the condom, and damn if he didn’t just come that alone would be enough to send another orgasm ripping through his body.

Cas’s arms are shaking now as he ever so slowly pulls his softening cock out of Dean’s ass. Dean can feel his hole quiver as it’s suddenly empty of Cas’s girth. “Fuck,” he mutters, blinking his eyes to clear his blurry vision. He can feel slick lube dripping down his ass crack, and he mentally winces. Should’ve remembered a towel...Thank fuck Cas’s couch is made of leather.

When Castiel rocks back on his heels, gripping the back of the couch in one hand, he looks down at Dean, eyes beaming and cheeks flushed. “ _That_ ,” he points out, “was by _far_ the best Christmas gift ever!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Dean, come on! We’re going to be late!” Cas’s voice is muffled through the door, and Dean glowers at it, arms crossed.

“‘M not wearin’ this stupid thing, Cas. I don’t _care_ if it’s Christmas. If you think it’s so great, then you wear it.” Glancing back into the mirror, Dean rips off the god awful Santa hat - complete with reindeer antlers to boot - tosses it onto the bed. There is absolutely _no fucking way_ he is showing up to Christmas dinner in that. Sam would have a heyday. Not gonna give him the satisfaction. Nope.

“Dean…” Cas sounds like he’s plastered to the other side of the door. “Just let me see it at least. Please?”

Dean snatches the offending item off the bed and rips the door open. Castiel damn near falls into the room, and Dean catches him by shoving the hat at him. “There. See?”

Cas’s eyes flick from the hat to Dean’s head. He huffs out a breath. “That’s not what I meant.” And damn if the guy isn’t freakin’ pouting. Fuck.

“Fine.” Dean snags the hat from Cas’s hands and pulls it unceremoniously onto his head. He grimaces as the scratchy red fabric makes his ears itch. “There. Happy?”

Cas chuckles. Damn him. “Yes. I am. You look wonderful.” He pulls Dean in for a kiss, and Dean puts up a token resistance. He has to. Can’t have Cas thinking he is _okay_ with this. Soon enough though, he melts and kisses Cas back.

“Okay. You saw it. Can I take it off now?” Dean asks, pulling back with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you want your family to see you like that? It’s Christmas, after all, and everyone should be in the Christmas spirit. I, for one, think that your family would simply _adore_ you in that.”

“Fuck the Christmas spirit,” Dean mutters with a scowl. But he doesn’t mean it. Not really. In actuality, this particular Christmas is shaping up to be the best one yet. And that has _everything_ to do with the man who is currently staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face. He huffs a breath out from the corner of his mouth and pulls the hat off by one antler. “You’re a dork,” he growls.

Castiel grabs the hat from Dean’s hand and tugs it on to his own head. It clashes horribly with that sweater, but whatever. That’s probably the point. “Maybe,” he replies. “But that is why you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean playfully nudges Cas’s shoulder with his own. “You’re alright, I guess. Come on, let’s go. I don’t know about you, but I am _starving_!”

Twenty minutes later, they pull up in front of the house - and really, it might as well be just _Sam’s_ house, for the amount of time that Dean has been staying there - and Dean notices his dad’s massive black truck already parked on the driveway, beside some beater car that must belong to Uncle Bobby.

“Looks like we’re the last ones to arrive,” Cas says needlessly.

Dean nods as he opens the Impala’s door, climbing out and shutting it with a creak. Together they climb up the front steps and open the front door, stepping inside to the warmth. They can hear laughter coming from the living room, and Dean smiles at that. It’s been nice, having their father be, well, a _father_ again. Add Cas and Uncle Bobby to the mix, and it’s the perfect Christmas.

They head into the living room, and are greeting by a crackling fire in the fireplace, casting a warm glow in the room. A fresh pine scent hangs in the air from the tree that Sam had insisted they put up this year. Dean hadn’t known _why_ Sammy was so damn set on a real tree when the fake ones were perfectly fine, but taking a deep breath of the fresh scent, he can admit that maybe Sam was right. Not that he’ll ever admit that out loud, but still...

The three men sitting on the couches stand up when they enter the room and greet them enthusiastically. Dean notes with a chuckle that most of said enthusiasm probably partially stems from the glasses of eggnog that have probably been refilled several times.

One by one, they give each other hearty claps on the back and wish each other Merry Christmas. His dad’s eyes are bright and his cheeks are slightly red as they step away from each other, so, yup! It’s the nog. Who in their right mind would choose eggnog over beer, Dean has no clue, but whatever.

“Merry Christmas, son.”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas to you too, dad. I’m glad you could make it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sam and Cas. Sammy is playfully teasing Castiel about the hat and the sweater, and Cas is taking it all in stride before calmly pointing out _Sam’s_ ugly sweater. That shuts his little bro up quickly. Good job, Cas.

Sam looks over at Dean, a small pout on his face, and as he does, his eyebrows shoot up. The fuck? _What_? Dean mouths at Sam, frowning when a smile begins to form in place of the pout. Does he have something on his face? He’s distracted from trying to figure out what the heck Sam is seeing by his Uncle Bobby greeting him warmly.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean gives his uncle a hug. “Yeah, you too, old man.”

Uncle Bobby shakes his head. “Watch it, kid. I might be old, but I can still take you on.” He claps Dean firmly on the back. “That’s a nice outfit your boy has on. Shouldn’t you be wearing matching outfits or somethin’?”

Oh, lord. This is gonna be a long night if Uncle Bobby is already teasing.

Across the room, Sam continues to eye him critically. He shifts uncomfortably, and excuses himself. He attempts to make his escape into the kitchen, but familiar footsteps follow. Dean makes it into the kitchen and whirls on his little brother. “Jesus christ on a stick, Sam! What’s with all the staring?”

Sam just shrugs nonchalantly and leans on the counter. “You look different.”

Dean blinks. Look different? The fuck does that even _mean_? It takes him a moment to recover, but then he sneers at Sam. “And you still look like a dork.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah. Good one.” He scrubs a hand through his long hair and sighs. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Dean. I just mean you look…Good. Happy.”

Dean pauses, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth and breathing out through his nose. “Know something, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam. And what?”

“I am.” Dean suppresses the urge to snicker at the surprise on Sam’s face. Not often he can surprise his little bro. He steps over and claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “Thanks to Cas, and you, and...I’m good. For the first time in a long time… I’m okay.” Oh, lord. Now Sammy’s eyes are watering. Damn nog. Dean clears his throat, desperate to steer the conversation away from chick flick territory. “So guess what?”

Sam scrubs at his eyes, a sniffle escaping, but manages to not cry. Good. “What?”

“I’ve got a horse.”

Dean is pretty sure the squeal of excitement that Sam lets loose can be heard three states away. God, his brother is such a girl...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean walks into Ellen’s office, a bounce in his step and a smile on his face. Today is his final booked appointment, and although he is somewhat sad at the fact that his time with Ellen is over, he can’t deny that the fact that he is finally able to move on, to be himself again, is a great feeling.

“Hello, Dean,” Ellen greets him with a warm smile as she motions for him to sit.

“Hey, Ellen.” Dean flops himself down into the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably.

“You’re looking well.”

Huh. Seems to be a theme lately. “Thanks,” he replies. “Been feeling pretty good, too.”

“That’s wonderful news. I take it things are going well then.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. Cas has been awesome. Did he tell you he gave me Rebel for Christmas?”

Ellen shakes her head as she smiles. “No. He never told me he had planned to do that! What are your plans with her?”

Dean scratches at the back of his neck and shrugs. “Dunno. Cas says he has someone that will train her for me when she’s ready. Then, uhhh...I guess just go for rides with Cas. And Sammy says I _have_ to let him ride her, too.” The memory of Sam’s face when he found out that his big brother had his very own horse draws a big smile to Dean’s face. God, the kid lit up like she was his or something. Hmmm. Maybe Dean should get him a puppy… “Oh yeah! And I’m going to be starting work again after New Year’s.”

“Well, Dean, I am very glad to hear that. You have certainly come a long way since we first started.”

Ain’t that the truth. “Yup. And uhh..I just wanted to say thanks. Ya know, for helping me. And suggesting the horse thing. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Ellen raises her eyebrow at him. “Not as bad? Just how bad did you think it would be?”

Dean spreads his hands wide. “Come on, Ellen. You _know_ I didn’t want to even try it. Heck, I wouldn’t have if Sammy didn’t make me promise I’d try.”

She just smiles at him in understanding. “Well, in that case, you’re welcome, Dean.” Her pen scratches the paper as she makes a note. It’s their last damn session, what the heck is she writing down now that she hasn’t already? “Now, I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“When you hear the name Michael, or think about what he did to you, what do you feel?”

Dean purses his lips and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tries to think of how to answer that. Ellen waits patiently, letting him think of how to answer on his own. Finally, it comes to him and he looks up at her, relief settling over him. “Nothing,” he says, with a small shrug of his shoulders. And it’s true. While he is still not even remotely happy that the whole thing happened, the fear and self disgust he used to feel are gone. “It’s like...I dunno how to explain it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not okay with it, but now it’s like I can look back at it and say, that happened, that fuckin’ sucked that it happened, but now I can be _me_ again. Besides, I got Cas out of it, so...Silver linings, I guess.”

“Dean, what happened to you was, in a word, horrific. Nobody should have to suffer what you went through. But you have come through this a stronger person. Always remember that. The fact that you were able to meet and connect with Castiel is wonderful on it’s own, but to me the real joy is seeing you recover from this. You are a survivor, Dean. And I am truly proud of you.”

Dean rubs a hand on the back of his neck, slightly uncomfortable with the praise as he always has been. But the smile he gives Ellen is warm.

They talk for a while longer - she’s paid for an hour of her time, and Dean’s gonna get his hour! - and when the clock hits three o’clock, Dean pushes himself up. “So that’s it, huh?” he asks, holding out his hand for her to shake. It feels strange, knowing that their time is done. Ellen has been such a big part of his life since everything happened, and it seems a shame that it will end with basically a handshake and a ‘thanks, see ya later!’

She shakes his hand, smiling softly like she knows what he is thinking. “You can come back if you ever want to, Dean. And I am sure I will see you around the ranch at some point, now that you have a little horse of your own to take care of.” She says with a wink.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ellen. I guess I’ll see ya later.” He offers her a two finger salute as he turns and leaves the office.

Outside, the sun is warm and bright, making the snow glisten like millions of tiny crystals as it beats down. The air is warmer than it has been, unseasonably warm, in fact, and Dean pulls off his coat as he climbs down the stairs of Ellen’s office building. The Impala comes into sight, and he pauses at the trenchcoated figure leaning against her sleek black metal hide, watching him approach with a warm smile. Was Cas waiting for him the whole time? When he reaches the other man, he is pulled in for a kiss before he can ask.

“How did your final session go?” Cas asks.

“Good. Ya know, I’m kinda gonna miss them. Weird, hey?”

Cas shakes his head. “No. That part of your life has changed you for the better. And I for one will always be grateful to Ellen for introducing me to you.”

Dean blinks. Wow. Cas could be a shrink too if he wanted, talking like that. Ellen 2.0...“Yeah. So, anyways. Whatcha doin’ here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

Cas grins widely at him. “It’s a beautiful day, and we still have a while before it gets dark. I was thinking perhaps we could go for a ride.” He says as he steps around to the passenger side of the Impala.

Dean heads over to the driver’s side and opens the door. Leaning on the roof, he squints over at Cas. Fuck, he needs to go buy a new pair of sunglasses… “Okay, but who am I gonna ride?  I can’t ride Tonka if I’m not a part of the program anymore, and Rebel’s still practically a baby.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “Who said anything about riding _horses_?” Dean’s mouth drops open in an ‘o’, and Cas’s eyes darken as they stare at Dean’s mouth. “I think that today I prefer a little more of a...wild ride.”

Oh, yeah. It’s gonna be a great day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! This was a very different experience for me. I enjoyed every minute of it, as hard as it was at times. Any comments or suggestions on how I can improve are _always_ welcome! ...please? Hehe.  
>  Once again, another thank-you to beezie687 for all you help!  
> And if you for some reason have not checked out the incredible artwork... [HERE](https://amethystaris.tumblr.com/post/179380815256/art-for-whos-gonna-ride-your-wild-horses-by)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and have a better than wonderful day! Bye for now!


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